Darkness Before Dawn
by DotNetDemon
Summary: Everyone has secrets. Some are just worth killing for.
1. PART ONE: ANGELS FALL

JONNY QUEST, THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST, THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST LOGO, AND ALL RELATED CHARACTERS COPYRIGHT © 1996-2015 WARNER BROTHERS ANIMATION, A SUBSIDIARY OF TIME WARNER, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THIS FICTION IS PROTECTED BY FAIR USE LAWS UNDER THE APPROPRIATE JURISDICTIONS. THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST: DARKNESS BEFORE DAWN COPYRIGHT © 2015 ADAM HARDIN. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL EVENTS, LOCATIONS, OR INDIVIDUALS IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL. THIS WORK IS PROTECTED BY THE "FAIR USE" DOCTRINE, SECTIONS 107-118 OF TITLE 17, UNITED STATES COPYRIGHT CODE, OF THE UNITED STATES COPYRIGHT OFFICE, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. THE AUTHOR CLAIMS NO OWNERSHIP OF THE ORIGINAL WORKS. THIS WORK IS FOR FREE DISTRIBUTION; THE AUTHOR CLAIMS NO RIGHTS TO ANY PROFITS OR PROCEEDS GENERATED BY THIS PUBLICATION.

* * *

It was a routine traffic stop on a cool spring night at forty-two minutes after nine PM on the twenty-third of May, 2006. According to my cruiser's temperature gauge it was sixty-five degrees out. I had stopped a 1997 green Oldsmobile Eighty-Eight for speeding. We pulled over into the grassy median that separated Upper Mechanic Street and the short road of Melvin Heights.

I keyed my radio, "83-10 to dispatch."

Dispatch came over the air: "Go ahead, 83-10."

"83-10, license plate check on Maine… hang on."

The driver side door of the Oldsmobile opened. It was a clear night with millions of starts in the sky; the moon displayed ambient light over what my headlights and light bar didn't illuminate. I dropped the car radio microphone back into its seat and got out of my car.

"Come on back here!" I shouted to the driver.

It was hard to tell in the darkness, but I believed the driver was a female. I could see a child's car seat in the back. The driver faltered for a moment before sticking her legs out. Strangely, she was barefoot… and her jeans were stained with a dark crimson color. When her torso emerged I knew I was in trouble. I immediately ripped the Velcro band on my holster off that was used to hold my gun in place and removed it.

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP!" I screamed. "LET ME SEE THOSE HANDS!"

A dark brunette emerged quickly holding two semiautomatic handguns. Her white blouse was covered in blood and soaked with something else. With one gun pointed inside the car and the other pointed at me, she opened fire on both weapons. I could hear a child screaming from inside the car as bullets tore into my windshield and hood. I ducked behind my door and peered around.

I began screaming into my radio's microphone clipped onto my shoulder, "83-10 SHOTS FIRED! SHOTS FIRED! 10-33! INTERSECTION OF…"

The door window above me exploded as more bullets slammed into the door. I stood upright and returned fire, firing four forty-caliber shots at the deranged woman. She jerked backwards and fell into her door, slumping down to the ground.

Sergeant Billy Beam came over the radio. "Jonny!" he shouted. "Where the hell are you, son?!"

I ducked behind my door again and grabbed the microphone to my car's radio. My heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest and drag my lungs with it. I was sweating profusely. Somehow I managed to find the words needed.

I stuttered, "Intersection of Upper Mechanic Street… Melvin Heights…"

"10-4, son; dispatch, can you see if you can get ahold of county?"

"10-4, 83-3, sheriff's deputies are en route," dispatch responded.

"10-84, dispatch."

"Five minutes 83-3. 83-10, do you need an ambulance?"

"10-4," I said. "I'm…"

A bullet hit the pavement in front of my left foot. I peered around in time to see the woman with a grill lighter pulling the trigger. I raised my gun and pointed it at her head.

"Don't do it!" I pleaded.

The woman was crying uncontrollably as blood ran from the corners of her mouth. A pool of blood was forming underneath her back. With the last pull of the plastic trigger the flame emerged. Immediately the shooter and car was ablaze. I screamed profanity as I continued to hear a child screaming from the back seat. As I ran around my car the deranged suspect—now on fire—stood erect and pointed her gun at me. Mortally wounded or not, she was determined to end my life that night. A bullet whizzed by my thick blonde hair and hit my light bar. I crouched low and emptied the rest of my clip into her. Her body jolted back with each impact before falling face first into the asphalt as the flames consumed her and her car.

I ran to the passenger side and looked in the front seat. A four year old little girl with blonde hair wearing a large pink night shirt was slumped over from a bullet wound to the side of her skull. In the backseat was another blonde girl—this one probably a year younger—wearing a large blue night shirt was strapped in tight. Her face was red from the copious amounts of screaming and crying she had been doing.

She was wailing for her parents and her sister.

The flames began to consume the front dashboard and quickly moved past the driver seat. There was no time to stop and assess the situation adequately: this girl had to be removed immediately. I tore open the back door and reached inside, scrambling to undo the buckle.

"God-fucking-dammit," I muttered as I reached into my pocket for my knife. I pulled out the pocketknife, selected the largest blade, and went to work on the safety harness that held the girl prisoner. The car and child reeked of gasoline. I glanced down into the floorboard to discover four large gas cans.

I worked faster as the entire front compartment of the car was engulfed. The heat was starting to become unbearable as was the lack of oxygen.

I cut through the last strap and removed the girl from her seat. Carrying her in my arms close to my chest I bolted as fast as I could to my patrol car. Diving into the driver seat with the child still in my arms I slammed my car into reverse and floored it about fifty yards. After coming to a screeching halt at what I considered a safe distance, the car exploded, filling the night sky with flames and thick plumes of smoke. Sirens could be heard in the distance. I exited the vehicle with the little girl in my arms and sat down at my rear tire. She held onto me and cried, gasping for breath. I held onto her and tried to comfort her to the best of my abilities but just couldn't find the words needed.

All of my adventures, all of my enemies that I had encountered in my twenty-three years of existence, I had never…

I didn't notice Billy running up to me followed by paramedics. I also didn't hear the firetrucks rolling up onto the scene. I do remember looking up into Billy's hazel eyes behind his thin glasses and seeing his oval face, asking me if I was alright. An EMT took the girl from me as Billy got down on his knees in front of me and began searching for any gunshot wounds.

I looked down at my holster and removed my service firearm, a Springfield Armory XDM with black grips and a silver slide. I dropped it onto the ground and buried my face in my hands. I could feel Billy put his arms around me as I began to weep.

There would be much more bloodshed coming.

Much, much more.


	2. One

It was raining outside when the office desk phone on my desk rang. I wasn't paying attention to the caller identification screen as I shuffled through evidence bags and police reports when I picked up the receiver.

"Knox County Sheriff's Office," I said. "This is Jonathan. How can I help you?"

Dad's voice came on the line, saying, "Hi, Son; how are you?"

I pushed the junk on my desk past my keyboard and leaned back in my squeaky albeit comfortable desk chair. Running a hand through my short blonde hair, I closed my eyes and tried not to let work get the best of me.

"Hi, Dad," I said with a weak smile. "I'm okay—just solving the serious crimes that plague our ill-gotten streets."

Dad laughed. My father was always appreciative of my subtle overtones of aggravation when I was stuck with monotonous duties. Dr. Benton Quest—a world renowned phenomenologist, archaeologist, and inventor—was no stranger to dealing with mounds of bullshit, especially given the fact that he raised me, anxiously awaiting the opportunity to seize something worth his time. He always referred to me as "a chip off the old block."

A block of what, however, remained a mystery.

"I was calling to see if you and Melissa were still coming this Friday evening?" my father asked.

I looked at my Dilbert calendar that occupied the far corner of my desk next to my metallic arm lamp. The date read the sixth of June, 2011, a Monday. The comic was Dilbert approaching his pointy-haired boss about a document review. I checked my Outlook calendar to make sure nothing else conflicted with Friday: all was clear.

"Yeah, Dad," I said. "We'll be there."

I could hear my father smile as he replied, "Good. I know Jessie and Hadji will be tickled to see you."

I laughed a little. Jessica "Jessie" Bannon was the daughter of my father's bodyguard, Roger "Race" Bannon, and a close personal friend. With naturally deep, dark red hair, emerald eyes, and porcelain skin, Jessie looked more accustomed to waltzing down runways than eating sand and dodging improvised explosive devices in the Middle East. After graduating from high school in 2001, Jessie, either through her own determination to find herself or give her parents respective heart attacks, enlisted in the United States Marine Corps. Her father, Race, was a former member of a secret branch of the Department of Defense known as Intelligence One, or I-1 for short; the department's job was to serve as low-key bodyguards for people of interest, among other things. His assignment came to fruition when Mom was…

I rubbed my face. It was way too early to be reminiscing about that.

"Has Hadji made tenure track yet?" I asked Dad.

Hadji Singh was my adopted brother from India. Two years my senior, dark caramel skin, hair as black as midnight, eyes as brown as dark tanned leather, and a practicing Sikh to boot, my father and I met Hadji while on assignment in Southeast Asia. For whatever reason—fate, I suppose, though I could never let my father hear that—Hadji found his place within our family. I never want to think what life would be without my "anchor of logic" as I affectionately referred to him as. His response was always the same: "Please, Jonny: anchors weigh one down—I want to lift people up."

"He's up for his review in two weeks," Dad said. "I'm sure he'll have no trouble whatsoever."

Hadji was an assistant professor of biomedical engineering at The Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine. Having completed his undergraduate and doctorate at Duke University, Hadji wanted to be a little bit closer to home until he was ready to assume his role at Quest Enterprises. My career in law enforcement had a subtle start to say the least: it was pure serendipity. A career fair at school caught my eye where I was introduced to Corporal Billy Beam, a Gulf War veteran and officer of the Rockport Police Department. We talked for a long time and, after a few ride-along tours as well as discovering the need for information forensics in the judicial system, I decided to pursue a dual-degree in criminal justice and computer science. I graduated from the University of Maine at Augusta with my undergraduate in Justice Studies and finished my undergraduate in Computer Science from the University of Maine. I think Dad was a little surprised that I wouldn't venture out but, to be honest, I needed a break from the madness that we encountered in the world.

Serving my community was a welcome vacation.

Dad and I continued our small talk before signing off, releasing me back to my duties. I took a deep breath and looked down at the mounds of evidence before me. DuPont had a chemical warehouse in Rockland off of U.S. highway one; someone had helped themselves to a particular batch of chemicals. Bromoharmine, cannabidiol, atropine… whoever walked off with this shit was going to have one badass party or start their own hospital. This wasn't the first case, either, as a local chemical company known as GAC was also hit multiple times in the previous weeks. The chemicals taken from there were food grade chemicals, such as preservatives. Whoever had pulled it off had to be someone on the inside as there was no forced entry and nothing out of the ordinary on after-hours surveillance. I told myself that I would just have to tell the company management to keep better track of their shit.

I picked up all the plastic bags and paper and dropped it back into the cardboard box. I placed the container back in the floor next to my desk where it would remain until I tired of walking around it and take it back to the evidence room. I looked at my wristwatch; it was getting close to noon. Melissa would be arriving any moment…

The desk sergeant's pristine voice came over my phone's intercom: "Hey Jonny, your girlfriend is here."

Right on cue, I thought to myself.

I got up from my desk and walked out of the broom closet that doubled as the detective's office. My partner and commanding officer, Sergeant Wade Carpenter, was working away at his desk on the opposite side of the whitewashed room.

"Where are you two lovebirds off to today?" he asked without looking up.

Wade was a real character. At five-foot-nine, dirty blonde hair, and pale green eyes, his body-building habits tended to lend himself to resembling a brick wall with arms in a suit. Today, however, was a red polo day for him, as compared to my green one.

"Probably Café Miranda," I replied, taking my rain coat off the hanger by the door. "That's where we went on our first date."

Before Wade could quip with something snippy, our phone intercoms lit up.

"Wade or Jonny, pick up," said Jill McDonald, the senior dispatch officer.

Wade pressed the intercom button and asked, "What is it, Jill? Did someone shit in the parking lot again?"

Friday nights always bring out the fun ones.

"Very funny, jackass; I've got a 246 call that's close."

"Jonny's code seven; I'll be en route."

Jill replied cheekily with, "Thank you, sweetheart."

A 246 was a shooting inside of an inhabited dwelling, like a house. Wade waved me off as he stood up.

"Go have fun, Jonny," he assured me. "If shit goes south, I'll radio in uniformed."

I asked, "You sure?"

Wade gave me a firm "Yes" and walked out the door with me.

It was going to be one of those days. I just didn't know it yet.


	3. Two

The desk sergeant was a tall, slender woman named Brittany Roberts. With short light brown hair styled in a pixie cut and a body mass that made reams of paper look obese, her big blue eyes were all over Melissa's hand, eyeing the new piece of jewelry that I placed on her ring finger the night before. Brittany looked up from my fiancé's hand and shouted at me as I walked through the door, "Jonathan Quest! You didn't tell me you proposed to her!"

Melissa came around the front counter, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me gently on the lips.

"You never were one for causing a big fuss," she mused.

Melissa Jenkins was quite a woman. Standing an inch shorter than me at five-feet-eleven, her azure eyes and long dark blonde hair reaching down to the middle of her back in a ponytail, I considered Melissa way out of my league. Three years older than me and a lot smarter, I bit the bullet three years ago and took the risk of complete embarrassment by asking her out for a lunch date. To my—and everyone else's—surprise: she said yes. At the time she was the resident director of information technology for the county. Now, with a doctorate in computer science, she was, like Hadji, an assistant professor at the University of Maine at Augusta.

And, for whatever reason, agreed to marry me the night before.

I had placed the ring on her desk at work in front of her keyboard with a note attached to it. Sure enough, when she arrived at her office after a full load of evening classes, she was greeted not only with the proposal, but me with a dozen roses.

"I haven't told anyone yet, Sergeant Crybaby," I lamented. "So, congratulations: you're the first to know."

I turned back to Melissa and asked, "You ready?"

"If you are," she said with a sweet smile before kissing me again.

I could hear Wade in the hallway making a comment about a sudden case of nausea. I flipped him off as we walked out of the office and over to Melissa's red Chrysler. As we rode to the café, she looked over at me intently. I felt her eyes and looked back.

"What?" I asked.

Melissa returned her eyes to the road; "Nothing, it's just that, well…"

I could see she was struggling to find the right words. Even in her discomfort she was gorgeous. That day she wore a smooth white turtleneck and jeans. Dressed modestly as always, yet still a supermodel in my eyes.

"You didn't wake up last night."

I looked back towards the road. She was referring to the anniversary. It had been five years since I witnessed the craziest shit ever thought possible, and I had seen a lot. From madmen who held entire cities hostage with nerve agents to paranormal apparitions, my adventures with my father had never been… well, what one would consider "sane." Other kids go camping with their fathers; I had to help mine stay alive. Dad made a lot of enemies from his work, especially from his previous assignments working for the federal government. But what I saw that night… nothing, not a single goddamned thing I had been through as a kid, could've prepared me for that. The only other thing that would even top that would've been Mom.

Mom… I needed her that night.

Billy, my friend and supervisor, managed to get me into an ambulance. I begged to be in the same ambulance as the surviving girl. As the paramedics cut her clothes off and washed off the gasoline I held onto her where I could, trying to reassure her everything was going to be okay even as I was falling apart. When we got to the hospital I was thoroughly examined and treated for some minor burns on my arm and back from when I was rescuing the child. I wanted to stay there with her but I knew I couldn't—I had to return to the station and try to get it together.

Brittany was a patrol deputy at the time and knew my family well from babysitting me when I was a kid. She took me to the station and immediately took me to an interrogation room where I could be away from outside interference, all the while trying to console me and help me piece together the events. Even though my dashboard camera captured the events, reports would still have to be written, an investigation would still have to be completed, and evidence collected… things I didn't want to think about.

The interrogation room was a small room the size of a large bathroom with one metal table and two metal chairs. The walls were a pale cream color. The fluorescent light overhead hummed its constant melody. I remembered Brittany picking up the phone that was on the table and dialing my house. I remember her saying "Benton, Jonny shot someone tonight… no, no, he's okay… please come down as soon as you can… yeah… I don't know. Okay, please hurry, bye."

It seemed like an eternity before Dad burst through the steel door. He immediately came to my side and put his arms around me like Billy had done earlier. All I could keep repeating through the tears was "I told her to stop… oh God, I told her to stop…" I got so upset that I ended up vomiting into a nearby trashcan. I could see the pain in my father's eyes as he didn't know what to do. What can you do? What can you say to someone who just took a life, even in self-defense? And then seeing a defenseless child with a hole in her head…

I saw them in my dreams. It was especially prevalent every time the end of May and the beginning of June rolled around. Melissa took my hand and gave me a squeeze.

"It's okay, babe," she said softly. "I'm here now."

I nodded and squeezed back.

As much as I needed my dad there that night, I longed for my mother's presence. I wanted her to kiss my forehead and tell me everything was going to be all right, that I wasn't a bad person, that I didn't fail to serve and protect, my sworn duty to the citizens of Rockport.

"Doctor Hull says I'm… I'm doing better," I said with a sad smile.

Melissa smiled in return, saying, "That's excellent, honey. I don't know what it's like and I'm not going to pretend to know. I just want you to know that you're mine and I'm yours, and I think you're the best damn police officer these people could ask for."

"I don't know: according to Wade, I make Columbo look like Batman."

"Oh, whatever," Melissa said, rolling her eyes.

We continued chatting until we reached the restaurant. Lunch was a welcome break from reality. Melissa showed me her detailed list of honeymoon ideas, wedding themes, and hors d'oeuvres. She wasn't really receptive to my idea of having it at the Golden Corral, quickly dismissing my argument of easy location and the food already being there. It wasn't long before my cellphone rang. I pulled out my Casio G'zOne Commando—the tank of all phones—and looked at the caller ID: it was Wade. I answered the call, "Yes, boss?"

"Jonny," Wade said with a tinge of worry in his voice. "When you get done, come to the address I'm going to text you. There's something you need to see."

"What is it?" I asked, leaning forward in my chair.

There was a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Not to cause any alarm or anything, but… there's something here with your name on it in the literal sense."

I blinked as my heart began to race.

"Okay," I said. "I'll be there shortly."

Melissa perked up, asking, "What's wrong?"

I took out my wallet to pay for the meal.

"Wade says there's something at a scene that has my name on it," I explained.

"I assume it's bad…"

I sighed, "Yeah… God wouldn't have it any other way, now would He?"

Wherever Mom was... I needed her then more than ever.


	4. Three

Melissa dropped me off at the address off Maine Highway 17. Sharing one last kiss before we parted ways, I stood on the edge of the two-lane road as her Chrysler Sebring disappeared into the horizon. I took a deep breath and turned to face the scene. The house I was called to was located down a narrow concrete driveway on Grassy Pond, a local favorite recreational spot. A marked county cruiser with emergency lights activated blocked the entrance. Standing beside it was Deputy Kenneth Dowdle, an older gentleman of forty-eight years and light brown hair and a stocky build. He was smoking a cigarette—Virginia Slims 100's were his favorite, even though he always claimed he bought them for his wife—when I approached. He took a puff and greeted me, "Sorry to pull you away from Melissa, Jonny."

"It's okay Kenny," I said. "Is Wade down there?"

"Yeah; he's waiting for you. He wouldn't even let me come in—just told me to wait here. He's not even called in forensics. I don't know what the deal is."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

I replied, "Hmm, strange… okay, I'm heading down. I guess keep holding down the fort."

"Yes sir, detective."

I traversed the driveway, my black work boots grinded softly on the concrete slabs as I made my way towards the house. Thankfully the rain had stopped during lunch: the last thing I wanted was to get mud on my white khakis. I'd already suffered the consequences of getting them dirty once and was threatened with having a bottle of Shout shoved up my rectum lest I get them filthy. Melissa was a little peculiar about clothes in that aspect.

The house itself was a three-thousand square-foot cottage. The exterior stain reminded me of my Grandpa Wildey's hardwood floors. The house was shaped in what would best be described as a stunted-J: in an effort to conserve horizontal land mass, the house was curved at the far end facing the lake with an open deck and covered porch. Beautifully polished windows and cedar shutters adorned the house atop a natural rock skirt. A two-door garage was located on the left as I approached with the door closed. Wade's unmarked black Ford Crown Victoria cruiser was parked in the driveway.

I walked up the steps of the front porch and past the opened front door. The inside was just as warm and welcoming, if not a tad affluent, on the inside as it was on the outside.

I called Wade's name.

"Back here, Jon," Wade called back.

He never called me "Jon" unless it was serious. When he called me "Jonathan," it was a matter of life or death, especially if there was no coffee brewed at the start of the shift.

I walked through the foyer and into the kitchen. Smooth white custom cabinetry with polished blue countertops greeted me as did the numerous pots and pans that hung silently over the island across from the stove. A stainless steel refrigerator hummed quietly. There was evidence that whoever lived here was either a neat freak or ate out a lot. A pair of white French doors led to the back deck and partially covered porch. I went through the one that was already opened and joined Wade at a glass patio table and a single chair.

The chair's occupant—a young woman probably around my age with long, raven-colored hair and wearing a pink bathrobe—was slumped over to the side, almost able to fall out. On the ground beside her was a black .38 special, popular among the ladies because of its small size and less susceptible to jamming as compared to its non-cylinder kindred. Blood ran down the front of her outfit and onto the chair and deck. I took a few steps around her and tried to assess what I was looking at.

"Where'd she shoot herself?" I asked.

Wade took a deep breath before saying, "From this angle, it looks like she was trying on her best Budd Dwyer impersonation."

Budd Dwyer was the thirtieth treasurer of Pennsylvania who shot himself on live television at a press conference. Dwyer had been charged and convicted of bribery; the day before sentencing, in front of a large televised crowd, he made a speech, pulled out a .357 revolver, announced "This will hurt someone," and blew the top of his skull out. From my own observation in front of me, I would say this was definitely a good contender for serious lead poisoning.

"What I wanted you to see was this," Wade continued, pointing to something on the table.

I looked and saw a small black paperback novel.

I read the title aloud: " _Night Chills_?"

"One of my favorite Koontz books," my partner continued. "Read what's inside the front cover."

He handed me a pair of latex gloves to handle the evidence. After slipping them on I gently pulled open the book. Inside the jacket someone had written "JONATHAN QUEST: YOU ARE THE KEY." I released the cover and stepped back immediately.

"What… the fuck…" I managed to stutter.

"I know," Wade said. "I don't understand it either."

I looked around the dock. My senses were heightened; suddenly, I was paranoid. Wade must've sensed it.

He put his hand on my back, saying, "Hey, hey, take it easy... You're a minor celebrity around here, remember? This could very well be someone dicking around with you."

"You don't believe that, do you?" I asked.

"Honestly: no. But what have we got to go on? We've got the body of a woman here in her bathrobe with a thirty-eight caliber hole in her cranium who may or may not have a passion for 'the master of suspense.' Let's start with the basics and find out who _she_ is first and then we'll work from there. I know your family's history, Jonny, and I know your dad has racked up more enemies than most thirteen year-old XBOX Live users. Remember what I always tell you: how do you eat an elephant?"

"One bite at a time, I know," I sighed. "I'll go start checking the house."

"Okay, good," Wade said with a nod. "I'll radio forensics and try to see if we can't borrow some manpower. These things don't happen here in Rockford very often."

I gave a slight nod in return. I looked out over the calm waters and the peacefulness that came with it. It looked like I was going to be catching up on my summer reading whether I wanted to or not.


	5. Four

I walked slowly into the master bedroom that was connected to the kitchen with my gun drawn. Wade hadn't mentioned anything about sweeping the house; even if he did, you could never be too careful. The other two bedrooms were shut while the small bathroom checked out as did the home office and laundry room. The room was painted a royal blue with an expensive looking white crown and floorboard. The bed was a large king-sized memory-foam mattress type with a black and red comforter on top of silk sheets. There was nothing in or underneath the bed.

That left the master bathroom.

I walked over to the door and slowly turned the brushed nickel handle. Immediately to the right was a stall shower; next to that was a garden tub. A set of twin sinks and toilet occupied the far wall. Across from that was another door: a closet.

There was a light on inside of it with a shadow.

I brought my Colt 1911A1 up—a sentimental gift from my maternal grandfather before he passed away—and announced who I was. There was no response from the other side. I placed my hand on the handle and pushed it down gently before ripping open the door. When I was a teenager, I would've screamed and bored a hole in the wall trying to escape; instead, as an adult, I took a deep breath and holstered my weapon.

I had another body on my proverbial hands.

On the tiled floor of the bathroom's walk-in closet was a completely nude man with salt-and-pepper hair lying face down in a pool of his own blood. A bullet hole had made its grand entrance—and exit—through his neck, probably severing his spine and blowing his trachea away. The victim probably drowned in his own blood and there wasn't a single damn thing he could do about it. I went back to the kitchen and called for Wade. When we returned to the closet he rubbed his face.

"Jesus Christ," he moaned. "Another one?"

I walked deeper into the closet and said, "Yeah… it looks like he was coming to get a towel. His body is still wet and I don't smell piss. How come you didn't come in here when you first arrived?"

"Nobody answered the front door. I went around back and that's when I discovered the first one. That's when I called you. I wasn't about to try and clear this place by myself. Have you looked in the other rooms?"

"No, I thought you did."

Wade shook his head, saying, "Okay, let's go check them out since there's nothing to search on this guy and I'm not about to start moving bodies until the crime lab gets done with them."

I agreed and we returned back to the foyer. Through a small hallway was a guest bathroom flanked by a bedroom on either side. Wade directed me to the one on the right; he was going to take the one on the left. I burst into my room and did a full sweep. Apparently it was used as a utility room as it contained nothing but some shelving units and various tools. Wade was still in the hallway staring at the door of the bedroom he was supposed to investigate. He called me over.

"Look at this," he said, pointing to the doorknob.

It was a keypad lock. A deadbolt lock rested above it. Whatever was in this room was of great importance to the owner. Wade brought his gun up and backed up.

"Stand back."

With a mighty thrust, the sergeant kicked the door with all of his might. The door, though it looked wooden, was actually fiberglass and resistant to breaking. However, Wade kicked it so hard that it came off of its hinges. With a loud crash, the silver barrier fell into the room. Wade and I quickly jumped over it and into the faux bedroom.

What we found left us baffled.

The inside of the room had been converted into a makeshift command center. Bulletin boards hung on the wall along with numerous whiteboards. Pictures of various individuals were tacked up and strung together, trying to show connections along with notes about who they were and what they were doing. A large desk had been built into the cavity where the closet once was. Three LCD monitors, a keyboard, and mouse, along with various files and papers, littered the surface. Curiously, the computer itself was missing. Wade noticed a cream-colored filing cabinet on a nearby wall. He opened the top drawer and began thumbing through files.

"These look like observation reports, intelligence gathering… what the hell went on in this house?" Wade pondered.

I stepped up to the bulletin boards and began scouring for anything that might give me some insight as to why my name showed up inside someone's bedtime reading material.

I stopped breathing when I landed on her picture: a woman in her thirties with short but thick blonde hair, large blue eyes like mine, and a smile that could make any bad situation better.

"Wade… Wade, get over here!" I exclaimed.

Wade pulled out some papers before slamming the filing drawer shut and walking over next to me.

He looked at the picture, looked at me, looked at the picture one last time, and then made the connection.

He breathed, "Holy shit, Jonny, that's…"

"My mom," I said, finishing his sentence for him. "I need to sit down for a second. Is there a chair in here?"

Wade walked over and grabbed an executive office chair that was parked near the desk and put it behind me. I took a seat and leaned forward, burying my face in my hands.

"What was your mom's name?" Wade asked, slightly puzzled. He was looking at the other side of the eight-by-ten inch photograph.

"Rachel, née Wildey," I said, trying to suppress all the memories that would not stop. "Why?"

Wade took the picture off the board, flipped it over, and handed it to me.

"That says Judith Waterston."

I blinked and looked up at his sad green eyes, asking, "What?"

I took the photograph and examined it again. That was definitely my mom.

But who in the hell was Judith Waterston?

"Huh… this doesn't make sense either," Wade continued.

I looked back up at him.

"Who is Roger supposed to protect again?"

"Technically: me, Dad, Hadji… Bandit when he was alive. Don't tell me there's something that contradicts that."

Wade flipped through the stapled sheets he held in his hand.

He said without looking up, "According to this… Roger Bannon was assigned not to protect Benton…"

He handed me the papers.

"But you."


	6. Five

May twenty-fourth, 2006. The clock on the wall said it was thirty-two minutes after two in the morning. I was sitting in the interrogation room at the Rockford Police Department. Deputy Brittany Roberts put her slim hands over mine and told me that she had to get back to her patrol route in the county. I didn't say anything and kept staring at the table before me. As she walked out Chief Stanley Wagner walked in. He whispered something to my father. I felt Dad give an acknowledgment before turning back to me.

"I'll be back, Son," he said gently.

I turned and looked at him. My father no longer wore the beard that he was known for, or any facial hair for that matter. When we—Jessie, Hadji, and myself—moved out, he decided it was time to try something different, something he hadn't done in a long time. The only other time I had seen him clean-shaven was when Mom died. His russet colored eyes were tired, older; Dad had become more stressed as he aged. At the time, I didn't have the faintest clue as to what kept him awake at night.

Dad got to his feet. He was still wearing his gray suit from a fundraiser he had been holding that night at the Quest Enterprises compound off Main Street in Rockport. Dad and his company were often enlisted by national governments for highly specialized research and investigations over a wide myriad of projects. Originally a two-story colonial mansion, the new compound was a two-story Victorian summer cottage with smooth blue vinyl siding and white trimmed windows. It sat on the coast off of Hog Cove connected to Calderwood Lane surrounded by thick trees. The original mansion was destroyed inadvertently, but that's a long story.

Chief Wagner walked in with my future partner and supervisor, Detective Wade Carpenter. They pulled up chairs beside me. Wade took out a legal pad and pen and began jotting notes.

"Jonny," the chief said. "I don't know if you've met Detective Carpenter yet; he's from the sheriff's office."

I shook my head.

Wade looked up, fueled by nothing but adrenaline and caffeine.

With his trademarked firm yet supportive voice, Wade began: "Jonny, my name is Wade. I'm with the Knox County Sheriff's Department. We're here to investigate the shooting you were involved in tonight."

I nodded and wiped the tears from my eyes.

"Do you want a cup of coffee or anything, son?"

Again, I shook my head.

"Jonny, tell me what you were doing tonight prior to the shootout."

Through my choking and instability, I told them about my evening patrol. There was nothing eventful going on besides a noise complaint and suspicious activity near a local gas station. Wade wrote down every word without skipping a beat.

"What time did you pull the Oldsmobile over?" Wade asked.

"Almost fifteen till ten," I responded.

"And why did you pull them over?"

Continuing to look at the table, I mumbled, "Speeding."

"I'm sorry?"

"Speeding," I said loudly.

Wade continued to write down notes. He asked me to describe the series of events that transpired. For a solid five minutes I sat there silent. Finally, through enough willpower, I replayed the events orally. Wade didn't write a single thing as I spoke, instead opting to listen intently. When I was finished, he leaned back in the metal folding chair he occupied and looked down at the floor.

He shook his head, "Damn."

"I know," agreed the chief. "Jonny, I'm going to have Jeff take you home. We've got your car's dashboard camera so this should be pretty open-and-shut. The chaplain will visit once you have some rest. Would that be okay?"

I gave a small nod.

"What was her name?" I asked.

"I don't know, son," Chief Wagner said solemnly.

"What about the girl at the hospital?"

"She's a complete wreck. DSS is over there now as we speak. The explosion dislodged the license plate so we won't be able to cross-reference until we manage to turn it up."

I took a deep breath and tried to keep it together. Corporal Jeff Ferrara drove me home that night and dropped me off at the front door. Race was standing on the front porch with the front door open. He was about four years younger than Dad with crystalline blue eyes, white hair, and sturdy features. Race was a real workhorse and Navy veteran; not only strong physically, but strong mentally as well. That night he was wearing a white t-shirt and gym shorts, barefoot on the wood planks that comprised the porch.

He reached down to me as I slowly climbed each step.

"Come on in, kiddo," he said lightly. "Let's have some coffee. I know you're not going to sleep tonight."

He was only half-right. I didn't sleep for two whole days.


	7. Six

Wade and I rode back to the office in silence. The crime scene investigation unit had arrived and began to conduct their sweep of the property. Wade allowed me time to sit and read what I could while he interviewed neighbors before it had to go into an evidence bag. The owner of the house was the naked man found in the bathroom; according to those who lived nearby, his name was Garry Barber. Apparently Barber was a retired psychiatrist originally from California who migrated to the northeast under the pretense of cooler weather and a return to where he vacationed as a child with his family. Wade explained that he was told that Barber had no known children but was often seen with escorts half his age or less. Otherwise, Barber was your regular socialite who was enjoying retirement to its fullest.

I had a hard time concentrating on the report. The first few pages were about Roger Thomas Bannon; better known by his moniker and the name I called him ever since I was a kid: "Race." Details about his career, his relationship with Jessie's mom Estella—Estella Yulia Velasquez—and her family history, things that were never divulged to me, were all spelled out. Estella's mother, Jessie's maternal grandmother, was a Russian immigrant to South America trying to escape the USSR. She met Jessie's paternal grandfather in Colombia and thus started that branch of the Velasquez family tree. Jessie—Jessica Margaret Leya Bannon—was listed as the only child of Estella and her former husband, Race.

I had flipped ahead a few pages and noticed a few sheets were removed or missing a bottom half. Upon encountering the cover sheets for Dad and Hadji, their contents were missing. My section—if there ever was one to begin with—was missing entirely, except for a scan of a wallet sized photograph from my senior year in high school with my full name, Jonathan Blaine Quest, scribbled underneath and circled numerous times.

As we pulled into the parking lot, Wade noticed I was lost in thought about our discovery.

"What's up, Jon?" he asked.

I shook my head, saying, "I… I'm not sure anymore."

"Not sure of what?"

I looked over at him.

"I'm not sure… that I want to know what all of this is about."

Wade put the car in park and killed the ignition.

"Look, Jonny," he said, "I know your family, I know your history, and I know all about the batshit insane adventures you and your family have been on. What makes you think this is any different?"

"This involves…"

Wade opened the door and said, "I know, bud, I know. This doesn't make one goddamned bit of sense to me either and I don't know why she has someone else's name attached to her."

"What if that wasn't Mom, though?" I asked. "What if it was just someone who looked like her? Like a doppelgänger?"

"Come on, Jonny!" Wade snorted. I got out of the car as well. "A man knows his mother when he sees her. She looks just like you."

"There're lots of blue eyed, blonde hair women."

"That may be true, but none look like you trying to be a transvestite."

Even though I wanted to punch Wade in the back of the head for disrespecting the thought of my mother representing me in drag, the validity of his point outweighed everything else. When we arrived back at our desks, Wade motioned to me, asking "Is the old man out there?"

The 'old man' was our term of endearment for the sheriff, Sheriff Smoak.

I looked out the door. The coast was clear.

Wade opened his top drawer and pulled out an electronic cigarette. After taking a few puffs he tossed it to me. I was in the process of trying to quit smoking, but the stress of the job made it difficult, especially since we weren't allowed to consume alcohol unless undercover. After I puffed a few times I tossed the small fountain pen of a nicotine source back to its owner who immediately put it in his desk.

I tried to occupy myself with other casework while Wade wrote up initial reports and waited to hear from the medical examiner. If the forensic unit managed to turn up any social security numbers or records containing emergency contact information, our next task would be to notify the next of kin. It was unknown how long they would take, though I guessed they would be back within the next hour or two. I finally couldn't take it anymore and motioned to Wade that I was going out. Wade gave me a nod before returning to his phone call.

I went out to my car, a 2002 dark blue Ford Mustang, and got in. Settling into my gray cloth seats, I pulled out my keys but sat there for a moment in reflection. Just what in the fuck was going on inside that house that left two people dead and a plethora of information on me and my kindred? The book said that I was the key… but to what? I shook my head and cranked my car.

I needed to find out what the significance of _Night Chills_ was and why it was selected. Obviously, Dean Koontz had written something profound enough to warrant two bodies and a miniature version of Batman's lair.

I pulled out of the parking lot and floored it towards the center of town where the book stores would be.


	8. Seven

My cellphone rang as I approached the turnoff for Main Street on U.S. highway one. I flipped it open without checking the caller ID, "Yeah?"

Wade's voice came over the air: "Hey Jonny, I just got an interesting phone call from Rachel."

Rachel Brooks was one of the three crime scene investigators our department had. The other two were Shawn Pack and Buddy Deitz.

"What'd she say?" I asked.

"There was a, quote, unquote, 'suicide note' found in the living room on the coffee table."

"Why do you say it like that?"

"I'll let you read it when you get back. Where are you headed, anyway?"

"Bookstore on main," I said. "I'm going to see if I can't dig up a copy of _Night Chills_."

Wade mused, "A little midnight reading, then? Sounds good; if they don't have it I'll just have one overnighted from Amazon. I might as well put this Prime Membership to good use. Anyway, I'll let you go. See you when you get back."

We said our goodbyes and hung up.

Fireside Books was a small, locally-owned bookstore that had been in town as long as I could remember. It was a homely little store with two large windows out front and a brick exterior above. Being an avid comic book reader, I was well known with its employees. I pulled into a parallel parking space and killed the ignition. The sun was drying up the wet asphalt and sidewalk quickly; I imagined that Dad would be in his lab or out on his boat relaxing.

"If only I could be so lucky," I mumbled to myself as I approached the glass door. A cold blast of air pushed by me as I stepped inside: someone was apparently hot natured. The store was lined with wooden bookshelves filled with numerous paperback and hardback volumes, each organized by specific genre. Two smaller bookshelves occupied the center of the store and flanked by two easy chairs.

At the counter was the owner's daughter, Caitlin Slagle. I always thought she was cute with her square glasses, freckled face, and long dark brown hair. With a large smile forming across her fair face, she welcomed me with, "Hey, stranger!"

I couldn't help but return a small smile.

"Hi, Caitlin," I said, approaching the counter. She was only five-foot-six but feisty. Her large brown eyes were always full of energy; it reminded me of Jessie's. She was wearing a t-shirt with the store's logo on it and denim capris.

"What'll it be today, Jonny?" she asked. "Marvel, DC, Dark Horse?"

I chuckled softly, saying, "I'm afraid none of the above this time. I'm looking for a book."

"Well, you're in the right place, Sherlock. What is it? Don't tell me you want to buy that coupon book of blowjobs."

I almost burst out laughing if it were not for my cluttered mind of bodies, Mom, and a growing mystery.

"No, no… I was wondering if you have _Night Chills_ by Dean Koontz."

"I never knew you for a Koontz fan; is it for Melissa?"

I leaned on the counter and said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Oh?" she asked, slightly tilting her head and forming a sly look.

"Let's just say it's work-involved."

"Uh huh," Caitlin said nonchalantly. "Let's see…"

She typed in the information into her point-of-sale system. Her expression changed to that of confusion.

"Funny you should ask for that… says here we sold our only copy yesterday."

 _Well, my, my, my…_ I thought.

I asked, "Really now? Were you working yesterday? Who sold it?"

"Hang on," she said. Caitlin turned to the backroom behind her and yelled for her mother. Her mother, Laura, came out. Laura was an almost carbon-copy of Caitlin with the exception of no freckles and better eyesight; those traits Caitlin inherited from her redheaded father. Laura's hair was also shorter—coming just past her shoulders as opposed to Caitlin's reaching down the middle of her back.

"Oh, hi Jonny," Laura said with a smile. "It's not often you wander in during a weekday."

"He's looking for this book you sold yesterday," Caitlin interrupted. "Who did you sell it to?"

Laura took a look at the LCD monitor before nodding.

"That was… let me think… Pam! Yes, that was Pam Hoyle that bought that," Laura explained. "She and Caitlin went to school together. She comes in here a lot and buys a lot of suspense and thriller."

I took out my memo pad and began taking notes.

"Did she ask for that book specifically yesterday?" I asked. "What time did she come in?"

"She did, yes. I believe it was around lunchtime yesterday."

"Was anyone with her?"

"No, she was by herself. I remember because it was a slow day yesterday."

"I see… May I have a copy of the sales receipt?"

"Yes, Jonny; let me print it out for you. She paid cash like she always does."

Cash payments meant no paper trail. If I didn't like where this was going before, I definitely didn't like where it was going now. Caitlin returned from the back room with a sheet of paper containing the printout of the sales record. Because there was no identifying information on it, I wouldn't have much to go on as opposed to a credit card sale. There was just one last thing to confirm…

"Thank you," I said, taking the receipt. "One last question, Laura: can you describe Pam for me?"

"Well, she's twenty-eight like Caitlin, tall and slender. She has long black hair, slightly tanned skin… she's an escort, see."

I perked up at the mention of her profession and asked, "Escort? Is she independent or does she have an agency?"

"I can find out," Caitlin volunteered. "I know some of her friends on Facebook."

Facebook… I missed the good old days of passing notes in class.

I looked around the ceiling of the store.

"You don't have any surveillance, do you, Laura?" I probed.

"We do," she replied, motioning towards the doorway above the backroom behind her. "I'll check yesterday's footage and make you a copy."

"Thanks."

"Jonny, what's this about? Did something finally happen to Pam?"

"I can't say at the moment, but what do you mean 'finally'?"

Laura shook her head, saying, "Jonny, just because you're not working the streets and instead working the Internet doesn't make it any safer. I'm talking from experience, here."

I nodded solemnly. It was a subject Caitlin didn't like to hear and Laura didn't like bringing up.

"Let's just say," I said, taking a deep breath. "That she's going to have her own segment on the evening news tonight."

Caitlin gasped while Laura put her arm around her daughter's shoulders and lowered her gaze. I gave a small nod and put slipped my memo pad back in my pants pocket. As I turned to leave, Laura said my name. I looked over my shoulder.

"Let us know if we can be of any more help," Laura continued. "Pam was a good customer and a sweet girl. She's had a hard time since her sister…"

There was a pause.

"What is it?" I asked.

Laura shook her head, saying, "No, it's nothing, Jonny; just a very serious family problem she encountered a few years ago, that's all. Just… keep us informed of what comes up, will you?"

I gave a silent nod before turning back to the door and exiting to the sunlight beating down.

It was going to be a long drive back to the office.


	9. Eight

Wade didn't even let me get through the door completely before shoving the copy of the alleged note into my hands that Rachel had e-mailed from the lab. I read over it and furrowed my gaze.

"This isn't handwritten," I said. "It's not even signed. How do we know she even wrote this?"

Wade leaned back in his office chair, agreeing with, "I know; the lieutenant and old man agree as well. Rachel couldn't lift anything off it. The coroner said the bodies should be ready in the next two days. You think your dad would mind donating for us to have our own sometime?"

Because of our size, originally all forensic work had to be performed by the detectives. This led to unnecessarily tying us up whenever shit really hit the fan. To combat this, Dad, through Quest Enterprises, granted the company an endowment to construct our own crime scene lab across town on donated property and hire three fulltime technicians to manage it. The detectives still maintained our specialties—for me, forensic technology like hard drive scraping and data recovery—and provided support to the techs whenever they needed it. However, all bodies that were due for autopsies were sent to the state capital, Augusta, for processing.

"Anything on the serial number for the gun she used?" I asked.

Wade shook his head, saying, "Registered to Garry. We matched his face to his driver's license found on the nightstand. Did you learn anything at the bookstore? I noticed you are empty-handed."

"Yeah," I said. "Laura believes that it's some slut named Pam Hoyle; said she was an escort, probably a high-end one. She said she sold her that very book yesterday."

"Well, I hope she enjoyed it!" Wade exclaimed. "I would hate to have seen the outcome if she read the Harry Potter books. Aria read the living shit out of those goddamned things and dragged me to all the movies."

Aria was Wade's daughter and only child. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of seeing Wade sitting in a theater watching a boy wizard be stalked by a guy with no nose, all the while boning his best friend's sister. He looked at his watch.

"Let's call it, Jonny," Wade said, letting out an exhausted sigh in the process. "We'll pick up this shit tomorrow morning."

"Who's on call tonight?" I asked.

"Pete is; his wife is out of town so he volunteered to cover the thirds."

Pete Comire was our lieutenant and direct supervisor over both the sergeant and me. He was a large guy in both height and in girth; his hands were big enough to pick up my skull like a bowling ball. However, Pete could move in ways that you would not expect an overweight person to maneuver.

Wade hammered out an e-mail and submitted it before logging off.

"I asked him to dig up whatever he can since he's not busy," Wade said. "Maybe we'll have some more info in the morning. Until then, we'll just have to start tracking down who knows this girl and look up any friends of Garry what's-his-name."

I logged out of my own computer and replied, "Sounds like a plan. See you in the morning, boss."

"Same to you, kid," Wade said as he started to walk out the door. He stopped and turned to me, saying, "Oh, and Jonny… don't let this keep you up tonight. For all we know, that picture of your mom could be very well just be something they dug up on your family."

"I wish I could swallow that," I said, looking down at the smooth blue carpet. "But, Wade, this… this is different than what I've been through."

"Because you think you're by yourself?"

"I'm an adult; I don't need to be pestering Dad with this bullshit. I can only imagine what he would've accomplished if he didn't have to drag me along."

"Don't say that, Son," Wade said, stepping back into the office. "Your dad took you with him because he wanted you to experience things that dumbasses like me could only dream about. I know you want to find out what happened to your mom, I know that; and I don't know if that has anything to do with what we're uncovering."

"Murders are not that common here in Knox County, Wade."

Wade nodded, saying, "Maybe so… but they're not impossible; more so when you have someone that has been in the news as much as you have growing up. Now that you're an adult and your dad has slowed down, how does it feel to not have your adventures chronicled? I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if they made a goddamn cartoon about you and your family…"

This time I had to let out a chuckle.

"A cartoon, huh? What… call it 'The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest'? I didn't do as much as you would like to believe, Mr. Carpenter. My dad and Race had the real adventures… me, Hadji, and Jessie: we were just kids along for the ride. Most of my adventures were stuck doing schoolwork and playing with computers. I do admit, though, I did wind up in some very… interesting, albeit sometimes illegal, situations."

"Yeah, I remember hearing about a particular incident concerning how you met Jeremiah Surd," Wade chimed with a sly smile.

"Fuck off."

He laughed.

"Jonny, if this was anybody else, I would tell you to watch every step you take and trust nobody. And I also know if I told you that you would consider that insulting considering the shit you've seen and experienced. Just do me a favor…"

"What is it?" I asked.

Wade went to the door and turned back one last time.

"Don't get killed before you write up today's reports tomorrow," he said. "I hate writing those fucking things."


	10. Nine

I kept a steady gaze on my rearview mirror on my way home. Many people assumed that after living such a life under such scrutiny and having incidents that involved abduction, imprisonment, and potential for loss of life, one would get used to it. Many people don't realize what happens when one assumes.

Melissa and I lived in a two story citadel brick house on state highway seventy-three roughly three miles southeast of the office in the small town of Owl's Head. With the creeping paranoia that climbed up my spine, it was the longest ten minutes I had felt in a long while. The sun was still emitting a lazy haze over the land, hinting at the oncoming dusk that would eventually lead into night. As I got closer to the house, a familiar car sat outside the garage behind Melissa's Chrysler: a dark blue Mazda 6 sedan with North Carolina license plates.

I pulled into the two-car garage and shifted into park. My house was a gift from Dad; at least, he called it a gift. At the time of the shooting I was living in an apartment outside of Rockport. After that night, I didn't feel safe in my own residence—even at Dad's house I would still sweep every room, gun and flashlight drawn. Dad purchased ten acres of land off the highway in Owl's Head, hired an architect, and directed him to do whatever I deemed necessary to feel safe again. When I protested, my father simply smiled and said it was originally meant to be a wedding gift, but in order to have a wife you need somewhere to put her. Wives seem to like having a roof over their head. A medium pitch roof to combat the snow buildup in the winter, white trimmed on tall, beautifully accented windows, and a well-manicured garden that Melissa kept up adorned the outside. Inside were hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances, recessed lighting, and enough room to one day start a family.

At least, if I ever got that far…

I got out of my Mustang and gathered paperwork I had taken home from work to go over concerning the evidence that was impounded. First, though, I had a guest I was looking forward to seeing.

Before I could even get my key in the lock it flew open and one hundred and thirty-five pounds of what could be described pure muscle jumped on me, nearly knocking me off my feet. With her arms tightly around my neck, Jessie Bannon screamed excitedly, "There's Inspector Callahan!" I dropped my papers and put my arms around the redhead, returning the embrace. With what wind I had left in my lungs, I managed to hoarsely say, "Christ, Jess, you nearly made me shit myself."

She giggled before turning and kissing me hard on the cheek. Releasing, Jessie stepped back and looked at me. She was wearing her service "C" uniform—green trousers with khaki web belt, khaki short-sleeve button up shirt, polished black shoes—adorned with her appropriate ribbons. Jessie had completed tours in Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom and the Afghanistan War, working her way up the enlisted rank to staff sergeant. I could never get enough of her large green eyes: they were warm, compassionate gateways to a beautiful soul who I could never have. I sighed on the inside.

"Okay Jessie, I got the video, you want me to post it on Facebook now or later?" I heard Melissa ask from inside the kitchen.

Jessie turned back and said, "Go ahead and post it now; I'm sure Dr. Quest will get a kick out of it."

She looked back at me and motioned towards the inside.

"Come on," she said. "Supper's almost ready."

I kneeled down and picked up all of the papers I dropped and followed Jessie into the kitchen. Melissa was stirring a sauce pan of spaghetti sauce with one hand while fumbling with her smartphone with the other. Upon seeing me, her already wide smile grew wider. I couldn't help but smile back. We kissed each other gently.

"Hi honey," I said. "I hope you're not expecting me to clean all this when you're done."

She poked me stiffly in the stomach.

"I guess you're on a new diet now, huh?"

"Oh, please," Jessie chimed in. "Jonny would take hostages if he was denied food."

I nodded, saying, "She has a point: I do have a loaded firearm on me."

"It's going to be kind of hard to use when it's _shoved up your ass_ , Mr. Quest," Melissa sneered playfully. "Jessie's already set the table. Go unload and get ready."

I kissed Melissa one more time and went to my office. I dropped the small stack of sheets onto my desk followed by my cellphone and gun inside its holster. There were four framed photographs I kept on the corner of the surface. I picked up the largest of them all and studied it carefully although I already knew the answer to what I was searching for.

"No use fighting the obvious," I said to myself quietly. "It is you, Mom."


	11. Ten

Dinner was a jovial affair for the most part. While Jessie and Melissa carried on conversations on their respective careers and latest happenings in their respective lives, I quietly ate, interjecting a little tidbit here and there. As Melissa poured everyone another glass of Antler Hill Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley wine—special ordered from the Biltmore Estate's winery in Asheville, North Carolina—Jessie turned to me and asked, "You've been awfully quiet tonight. Did something happen today at work?"

Melissa also looked at me while she sipped her wine. I also took a sip of mine before explaining.

"Today I got a call of a shooting at a luxury house out on the edge of town," I said, staring down at my empty plate. "It was an older gentleman and a woman about our age. From the looks of it, the woman shot and killed the older guy before turning the gun on herself. My boss found her out on their deck overlooking the water. She had a book by Dean Koontz called _Night Chills_ ; inside it was a note that said that I, specifically, was the key. To what is beyond me. We searched the house and came upon this one room that looked more like a closet in the CIA than it did a spare bedroom."

Melissa asked, "What makes you say that?"

"There were whiteboards, cork boards everywhere, all littered with pictures and papers. Filing cabinets, a desk with a missing computer… It didn't make any sense. Then I found a picture of my mom hanging up; next to it were dossiers on me, Jessie, Hadji, Dad, and Race. None of it makes sense… the girl bought the book yesterday and was a known regular at the little bookstore in town. The victim is a retired psychiatrist from out west. And to top it all off, there was a name on the back of the photo of Mom: Judith Waterston. I don't know if someone was just jotting down a note and forgot about it or if it's something else."

Jessie and Melissa were silent as I tilted my head back and swallowed the rest of my wine in one large gulp.

Finally, Jessie spoke up: "I guess you feel this is different than our past adventures, huh?"

I nodded.

"This is definitely different, Jess," I said while rubbing my face. "I can feel it."

Melissa put her soft hand on mine, saying, "Sweetie, whatever this is… I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

I looked into her sparkling blue eyes and felt her sincerity. It was hard for me to find relationships because of who I was and the enemies my family had accumulated. Women knew that gold diggers were not welcome, that whoever wanted to be with me had to be able to endure. I dated off and on over the years prior to Melissa with little success. One night, I finally broke down and told Melissa if it was too much for her, to be dating not only a police officer but also one of the most recognized faces in the criminal world, she was free to leave. To my surprise, she wrapped her arms around me and told me that it would take an act of God to force her to leave my side. Her only request was that I do the same, and I agreed.

I tried not to think about my failed relationship with Jessie and the taint that it left between us for such a long time…

"Is there anything I can do to help, Jonny?" Jessie asked.

I looked at her for a moment before instructing her to go to my office and retrieve the documents I had as well as the framed picture of my mother. Jessie obliged and returned shortly with what I requested. As Melissa cleared and cleaned up the dining room table, I set out the materials before me. While Melissa was out of the room, I handed Jessie a printout.

"This is the photo in question," I said.

Jessie took the scanned picture and studied it.

Without looking up from the sheet, she remarked, "You look just like her."

"Thanks. Now, look at this."

I handed her the framed picture of Mom. Jessie's eyes lit up.

"Jonny… these are the exact same photo?"

"I know. That's not a publicly shared picture, either."

The picture that was hanging up in the intelligence room—that I also had an original copy of—was a portrait shot of Mom holding me as a baby in front of the lighthouse where the old mansion was. Mom had long, beautifully layered blonde hair that went down to the middle of her back and perfectly framed her slender face. With bright blue eyes, a trademarked feature of her Nordic heritage passed down from her father, my grandfather, Douglas Wildey. The photograph was taken by my father back in 1984.

Jessie put the picture down and gently pushed it away. Melissa came back and sat silently in her seat.

"I need to know more about these people, especially this 'Judith Waterston' name. Any help you two can provide would be much appreciated," I said solemnly.

"Are you going to tell your father?" Melissa asked. "What about help from Billy?"

Billy had moved up to the Maine State Police as a lieutenant in the Evidence Response Team, known internally as its initials ERT. As much as I didn't want to bother him with my troubles, he did have a lot of resources at his disposal that we didn't have in our homely county. Dad, on the other hand…

I sighed, "I don't know concerning Dad; I can call Billy tomorrow."

"What don't you know about your father, Jonny?" Jessie asked. "I think he would be just a tad upset if he didn't know. Especially since he has a lot of resources that could be of some use, I think."

"I just don't know, Jessie," I countered, putting my head in my hands. "Dad's older now; he doesn't need this kind of stress. He's preparing to transition his role at the company over to Hadji so he can actually enjoy some sort of retirement."

"What about my dad?" she asked.

"You hate your stepmother with a passion. In fact, I think our last conversation included the line 'I hope that silver-headed cum-belching cunt waffle gets hit by a Prius', if I'm not mistaken…"

Melissa tried to stifle her chuckles but failed. Even in the dark mood of things, I couldn't help but crack a halfway smile as Jessie flushed. Race met his current wife, Elena Denise Morrow, at the graduation ceremony where Jessie and I received our high school diplomas. Three years later, the two were married, much to the chagrin of Jessie. From what I could gather, she could not stand the sight of seeing her father's attention being placed on a woman that wasn't her or her mother. Elena was a beautiful older woman close to Race's age with soft silver hair that flowed to her shoulders. Her deep set brown eyes always made me feel like she was a warm and welcoming person; her voice cemented this opinion.

"That's beside the point," the red-haired Marine said, brushing it off. "Are you afraid that I would not be able to assist because of my feelings towards her?"

I shook my head, saying, "I don't want to drag your dad into something that could possibly get him killed. Besides, I'm a big boy now, Jessie."

"That's debatable," Melissa quipped. This time it was Jessie's turn to laugh.

"Maybe so," Jessie continued after she managed to catch her breath. "Alright, Jonny: if you want to do it your way, then I promise to keep my mouth shut."

Melissa asked, "So, where do we start? What are the names of these people?"

"The man's name is Garry Barber," I said. "The girl's name is Pam Hoyle. Word is that Pam is a fancy prostitute for high-end clients, Barber included."

"Pam Hoyle?" Jessie asked, leaning back in her chair. "That name sounds awfully familiar…"

"The bookstore owner said something in passing about her sister. I don't know what, though."

Melissa was silent for a moment while Jessie pondered. Suddenly, she got up and went to our bedroom.

"Where is she going?" Jessie asked.

I heard her slide something out from under the bed.

I whispered, "My lockbox…"

After a squeaky metal hinge swung open and a rustling of papers, Melissa reentered the dining room with a newspaper in hand. She sat back down at the table and began scanning the front news story.

"What are you looking for, honey?" I asked.

Melissa stopped dead, apparently finding what she was looking for.

"Jonny?" she asked before sliding the paper towards me. "Read this line."

I looked down at the issue of The Courier-Gazette, the local Rockport newspaper. It was an issue covering my first shooting as a police officer on the Rockport Police. Melissa had her finger pointing at a particular sentence.

"The sister of the suspect," I read aloud. "Pamela Hoyle of Rockland, states that her sister's mental health was on a steady decline for the past several months. The suspect, Patricia Hoyle-Mullinax, was involved in a deadly shootout with Rockport Police Officer Jonathan Quest. Hoyle-Mullinax was discovered to have murdered her four year-old daughter via gunshot and attempted murder of her one year-old daughter by setting the car on fire in which the child was trapped. Hoyle-Mullinax's husband, Daniel, was discovered in the couple's home from a gunshot wound to the head. No word yet on whether the wound was self-inflicted. Officer Quest managed to save the youngest daughter without sustaining severe injuries. The investigation is currently ongoing."

I looked up to the two women staring at me in shock.

All I could utter was, "Holy… shit…"


	12. Eleven

I arrived at work the next morning at seven-thirty to relieve Lieutenant Comire. Sergeant Roberts was sitting at her desk up front as I walked in.

"Morning, Brittany," I said.

"Jesus, Jonny," she exclaimed. "You look like absolute shit. Did you not sleep any last night?"

I walked over to the communal kitchenette that was open to the public and grabbed my large porcelain coffee cup that read "COMPUTER GENIUS" on the side.

Without looking up, I replied, "No, not really."

"I see. Pete told me about what happened yesterday; I thought this could help…"

She tossed a paperback book up onto the counter. I walked over and picked it up. I looked at her in a mild shock, asking, "Where the hell did you get this?"

"A girlfriend of mine is a huge Dean Koontz fan, so I called in a favor. You know: 'investigative matters'."

She gave a sly smile and wink at the end. I couldn't help but smile back.

"Brittany, if I was sure you wouldn't tell anybody, I would kiss you right now," I said.

She continued to grin, saying, "I get that often."

Carrying the book in one hand and my coffee in another, I made my way through the doorway and into the hall towards the detective offices. The lieutenant's office was past my pitiful excuse for a work area. Luckily, Pete was still at his desk, finishing up his last caffeine intake before calling it a night. I stood in his doorway and knocked on the opened door.

Although Pete's stature gave many the impression he was someone who was "large and in charge," this simply was not the case. Pete kept his black hair near shaved and maintained a thick moustache that, when coupled with his glasses, made him look more like a college professor than supervising police officer. His collared white button-up shirt and neatly pressed blue tie reeked of professionalism.

He looked up at me and yawned loudly.

"Morning, Jonny," Pete said mid-yawn. "Judging by your cup and that book, I'm going to guess that you are severely constipated. You know they make pills for that, right?"

"Didn't your wife tell you the same thing the last time you made love?" I asked cheekily.

Pete snorted, "Kids these days… You probably want to know what I managed to uncover."

"Uh-huh."

Pete reached down into the floor beside him out of eyesight. He returned with a large cardboard box with an accompanying lid and set it on top of his blotter.

"I called over to Rockport and asked if they had this in their lockup. Thankfully, it hadn't been moved yet."

"What is that?" I asked.

Pete patted the top of the box as he said, "This is all the evidence from your shooting back when you were just a greenhorn with a badge. I would bet my sons' college tuition that you figured out who the victim's sister was last night, am I right?"

I nodded.

"You can thank me later," Pete continued. "Anyway, I had this brought over for you to rummage through; might be something useful. As far as the current case, there're a couple of anomalies that I've discovered."

He pulled out a large legal pad full of notes he had taken.

"For starters, there were two cars in the garage: a Scion registered to the girl and a Buick registered to the gentleman. Both of them had no prints whatsoever on them, or items for that matter. The only thing that Rachel found was the registration and insurance in the glove compartment. Whoever went to that much trouble is either getting ready to put those cars on the showroom floor or wanted to make sure there wasn't a single goddamn thing in there that would point us in any direction other than nowhere."

I took a seat in one of Pete's chairs that faced his desk.

"Next, we couldn't find any cellphones, pagers, anything like that in the house. Coupled with the fact that both vehicles are free of anything so much as a fart imprint should tell you that someone was there before Wade arrived. You said he talked to the neighbors?"

"Yes," I responded.

"And they didn't mention _anyone_ suspicious?"

"No."

Pete leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. He leaned back forward and picked up his pad.

"Rachel has Shawn going over every single document pulled from that house but so far the only prints we are coming up with belong to Mr. Barber. She also has him dusting everything conceivable but, as expected, nothing but Barber. There's no indication of any third-party housekeeping service, either."

"What about a rape kit?" I asked.

"I called Augusta about that: no sign of sexual intercourse and she's shaved," Pete sighed. "Rectum is completely intact as well. However, we should have a toxicology report either later today or tomorrow."

Once again, I gave a solemn nod and continued to sip my coffee.

"Jonny, I'm not sure what to tell you," Pete said. "Wade said this is really bothering you and, quite frankly, it bothers me, too. I was actually quite surprised that you took up this line of work considering all that you've been through growing up. Then again, I'm really glad you did: you've got a stellar success rate, you're well liked and well known in the community, and you inspire all of us."

"Thanks, Pete," I said with a half-smile.

"Jonny, I'm going to be frank for a moment: do you think this may be something involving your father? You know: someone he pissed off in the past and now that person is coming after you?"

"I'm really not sure, lieutenant. Most of our… Dad's… enemies have passed away or gone missing. Yeah, we would still get threats and whatnot, but they've seemed to of subsided as Dad's slowed down."

"I see… what about your mom?"

Pete immediately realized what he said and began to apologize profusely.

I stopped him: "No, no Pete, you're right… and the answer is, I really don't know. Dad never really talked about what Mom did that got her killed. I'm not even sure he even knows. I just know that after so many years of him avoiding the question I guess I just kind of let it fall to the wayside."

"Well, son," Pete said. "I think it might be wise to bring it up again."

"You know, you're not the only one who's suggested that."

Pete laughed.

"I can imagine. What else was suggested?"

"That I ask Billy Beam for help."

Pete stroked his round chin before saying, "Yeah… that probably would be best. Are you going to call him or do you want me to?"

"I'll do it; best he hears it from me, I suppose."

I thanked Pete for the information and got up to leave. As I began to walk out the door, Pete called my name.

"Hey, Jonny," he said. "If you feel this is too much for you to handle, we can let the state police handle it."

I shook my head, saying, "I think not letting me handle it would be too much for me to handle, lieutenant."

"I hope so, Jonny, I really do. In a perfect world, this would just be some fucknut's sick twisted live-action role-play of a survival horror mystery noire."

What Pete didn't realize, though, was that in a perfect world, my mom would still be alive. All I ever wanted to do was live a normal life. But, as I've been told, normal is such a subjective thing. Such as it is, being a deputy in a small town was a lot better than being a globetrotting adolescent who walked a very fine line between life and death on a near-quarterly basis.

Now I was just an adult who walked a very fine line between life and death on a daily basis.


	13. Twelve

Billy exhaled after taking in the case details: "Shit, Son; it sounds like you've got a real dilemma on your hands. You sure you don't want us taking over? I mean… is your boss okay with you investigating something directly tied to you?"

"I think Smoak is playing it by ear," I replied. "Besides: it's not like we have much manpower here. And you know that I wouldn't be able to sit still if you were able to have free reign without me at least tagging along."

Billy laughed, saying, "I guess I see your point, Jonny. What're Wade's feelings on all of this? Have you told your dad?"

"Wade is in the same boat as me: we're still just breaking ground on this. I haven't told Dad yet… I'm not sure if I should, though."

"Why?"

"Come on, Billy," I said, leaning back in my squeaky office chair. "I'll tell you what I told Jessie: Dad's a lot older now. I should not be putting him in situations where he can be seriously hurt."

"And if he goes willingly?" Billy asked.

"Not much I can do about that…"

I could feel Billy shaking his head as he said, "Just tell him, Son; it would be better if he heard it from the source rather than after the fact. By the way, how is Benton?"

"He's doing well, as far as I know. I worry about him being there all by himself. Race and his wife live nearby and keep an eye on him. He spends most of his time teaching online and managing the business like he always did. I can tell he's ready to make the move into retirement."

"Yeah… your dad is a great man, Jonny. I know he's proud of you."

"I hope he is," I said, looking up at the recessed fluorescent lights in the ceiling. "Anyway, I'll e-mail over what we've got on this case so far. I'm going to go talk to some of the neighbors again and see if I can get a different answer."

"Alright, bud. Have a good morning. I'll let you know what I can come up with."

"Thanks, Billy."

I could hear him smile, saying, "No problem, Jonny. Talk to you soon."

We said our goodbyes and hung up. I typed out a lengthy e-mail to Billy and attached a link to a shared portal all law enforcement agencies in Maine shared for evidence cataloging pertaining to the case. I asked him to dig up what he could on the two victims in order to build a full background on them. There had to be a connection somewhere other than a random erotic encounter, I just knew it.

I finished plowing through the morning memorandums and training reminders. My calendar popped up with a reminder about an appointment with my psychologist, Dr. Hull, at two thirty that afternoon. I continued to sip my coffee and finish reports when Wade walked in the door at nine thirty. Day supervisors held a morning meeting every shift to go over any upcoming activities and discuss current caseloads.

"Morning, sunshine," Wade said as he dropped his briefcase beside his desk; he noticed my coffee cup and asked, "Nightmares again?"

I polished off the rest of my liquid fuel and turned to face him.

"Yeah… that was the worst they've been in a long time," I said. "I'm going to go see my therapist this afternoon. I won't see my psychiatrist until next month. More than likely, these murders have triggered something inside."

"Well, no shit, Sherlock. I hope you don't believe in coincidences."

I rolled my eyes, saying, "I know… I know…"

I got up and put on my suit jacket. Today was black suit, white shirt, and black tie with a navy-blue stripe pattern day.

"Where're you headed to first?" Wade asked.

"Going to stop by the bookstore in town to see if they have a copy of the surveillance footage from the other day and hopefully get a list of any friends the girl had. Then I'm going to go talk to the neighbors around that house again," I said. "Surely-to-God _someone_ in that fucking area saw _something_."

"My name's not Shirley."

"You never get tired of that joke, do you?"

Wade wore a large shit-eating grin.

"Nope," he said proudly. "And you know you love it. Now get your blonde ass moving. You don't get paid the big bucks to stand around and look pretty."

"Aw, you think I'm pretty… thanks boss, I never knew you felt that way about me," I replied in kind.

"Shut the fuck up and get the fuck out," Wade retorted, thumbing towards the door.

I exited the station with a small wave to Brittany and the day shift deputies that were clocking in. Sliding into the driver seat of the Crown Victoria, I reflected on all the people asking me to keep my father in the loop. I knew Dad trusted my instincts when I was a patrol officer, even more so when I became a detective, but it was hard to fathom why everyone and their brother would hound my ass to let him know.

Unless he specifically requested it; if that was the case, there was only one person who would give me a straight answer. I would have to talk to Sheriff Smoak when I got back to the office.

I cranked the eight-cylinder Police Interceptor model of the luxury vehicle and pulled out of the parking lot. I thought about the early morning hours when my night terrors tore me from the comforting arms of Melissa and into the corner of the bedroom. I was holding onto my pillow with my knees up to my chest, believing that the stuffed object was the young girl I saved from certain doom, and wept my eyes out while screaming out ten-codes and calls for help.

To say that I was embarrassed about having an incident as such in front of Jessie would be an understatement. Here I was, a grown man in nothing but his green boxer shorts and a pair of white quarter-cut socks, behaving like a child was being ripped from its parents' arms. I woke up to Melissa in her oversized New England Patriots jersey and Jessie wearing a plain white tee shirt and gym shorts. They stayed by my side while I sipped ice water and wiped the sweat off my brow. It was then that Jessie happened to look down at the tops of my thighs and see the dull scars of a terrible secret that only Melissa, my psychiatrist, and my psychologist knew about.

I wiped away the tears in my eyes as I recalled the gasp and her hushed whisper of "Oh, God, Jonny…"

Jessie silently cried as Melissa tried to comfort us both. Jessie nestled onto my fiancé's neck while I leaned onto the other. Melissa began to softly sing the song _Rain_ by Breaking Benjamin, my comfort song. Sometimes while at my desk she would come and sit with her acoustic guitar and sing it for me. I loved these random spur-of-the-moment acts of love.

The cutting finally stopped roughly four months ago. It was hard—harder than my nicotine habit—but the medicines did help immensely.

I pulled into a parking space in front of the bookstore and killed the engine. Before I could even get completely on the sidewalk Caitlin was out the door running up to me.

"Jonny!" she exclaimed, nearly out of breath. "You won't believe this…"

The sinking feeling came back. I looked at her curiously.

"Pam's Facebook account has been completely erased; vanished, gone."

"You mean deleted?" I asked in slight shock.

I motioned to a bench underneath a nearby awning to get out of the sun. As we sat down, Caitlin continued: "Yeah… I didn't notice it until I went looking. I asked some people who knew her and they checked and can't find it either."

I nodded, "Okay… what about your surveillance footage?"

She reached into her jean pocket and handed me a USB flash drive.

"There's a copy of it from yesterday. Something happened to the camera system last night, like a power surge or something; I'm not sure. Anyway, Daddy was able to get the hard drives out and we pulled yesterday's off like you asked. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to edit it to just the time that she came in."

I looked up and down the street as I put the drive into my inner coat pocket.

"What's wrong?" Caitlin asked.

I didn't answer for a moment as I continued to look for any suspicious characters. Once you experience the feeling of being watched, you never forget it.

Finally, I questioned her, "Were there any customers yesterday that stood out after I left?"

She shook her head.

"Not that I can recall," she said. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Do you have a gun?"

I could see the fear starting to build up in Caitlin's eyes as she said, "Jonny…"

"Caitlin," I said firmly. "Do you or do you have access to one?"

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"Carry it on your person at all times, concealed. If anyone in uniform gives you shit about it…"

I reached into my wallet and pulled out one of my business cards. I handed it to the trembling bookstore employee.

"…have them call me. Do you understand?"

Caitlin nodded fervently.

"I don't know what the fuck is going on in this town," I said. "But whatever it is, or whoever it is, chances are they may try to clean up after themselves. Call me if there's trouble."

Caitlin agreed and retreated back to her store. I immediately went back to the car and plopped down into the driver seat. I keyed the mic, "County H-2 to dispatch."

Dispatcher Jill MacDonald's voice came over the radio: "Dispatch copies, county, what's up?"

"I may not be a meteorologist, but I could've sworn there were no thunderstorms last night."

"That's affirmative, detective."

"Were there any fires or electrical problems reported in the downtown area?" I asked.

There was a slight pause before Jill came back over the air with, "I'm not showing any here in the logs from last night."

"10-4 dispatch; 10-88."

"10-4 County H-2," Jill replied before tending to other radio traffic.

It was time to go have an impromptu meet-and-greet with Garry's neighbors before the "faulty wiring" of the neighborhood burned the whole damn thing to the ground.


	14. Thirteen

I was almost ready to go back to the office when I arrived at the last house that was in eyesight of the driveway to Garry Barber's driveway. Houses one through five couldn't offer anything as the occupants were at their respective day jobs. If this one couldn't offer anything, then the next step would be to pray for a sign.

House number six was a two-story elegant American Craftsman-style home with a beautiful cyan siding and bright russet shingles. A dark green trim accented the entire structure with red wrought-iron railing around the front porch. I stepped up to the wooden front door and rang the doorbell. I could see movement in a nearby picture window before the deadbolt became unlocked and the door opened. A woman I gauged about my age with long copper-colored hair and dark blue eyes stood in the doorway dressed in a cream colored turtleneck and blue jeans.

I pulled out my Knox County Sheriff's Office badge—a seven-pointed star with the state seal in the center adorned by the words "KNOX COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE" while "DETECTIVE" emblazoned the banner above—and displayed it.

I introduced myself, "Ma'am, I'm Detective Quest with the Knox County Sheriff's Office; I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions concerning one of your neighbors."

I put my badge back in my inner coat pocket. The woman looked towards Garry's driveway before stepping aside silently, allowing me entry.

As she shut the door, she said, "I guess you're here about the murders."

"Yes ma'am," I responded. "Did my partner, Sergeant Carpenter, speak to you the other day?"

"He spoke to my husband; I was at work. Please, have a seat."

We walked into the living room and sat on a plush blue couch underneath the picture window. The room was bright and welcoming with brightly polished hardwood floors and beautiful indoor plants. A lazy tuxedo cat was curled up in a giant black ball of laziness in a nearby recliner.

I opened my notepad and asked, "May I start by getting your name, Miss…?"

"Bostic, first name is Aimee. My husband's name is Perry," Aimee said. "We don't have any kids… yet; just Max over there."

I looked over at the cat in question: one ear twitched.

"Mrs. Bostic, were you home yesterday during the morning hours, say around ten-to-twelve o'clock?"

Aimee took a deep breath and said, "Yes, I was."

Judging from her body language, she had something interesting to share.

"Did you happen to be outside during that time or see anything unusual? Hear any strange noises or notice any strange people in your neighborhood?" I asked.

"Well," she started. I could see her building up the nerve to let the words flow. She continued, "I was outside on my back deck—we face the lake, obviously—doing some stuff for work. I heard a muffled sound that sounded like a gunshot from Garry's house…"

"You knew Mr. Barber personally?" I interjected.

"Yes," Aimee said shyly. "He's been a close family friend ever since we moved here from Illinois."

"How long ago was that, Mrs. Bostic?"

"We've been here for about four, five years maybe? We moved in not long after Garry moved in. He came from California—he's a retired psychiatrist—and we really enjoyed spending time with him. He would often host these small dinner parties for close friends at his house. Garry was a great cook and loved hosting people; entertaining others seemed to make him feel alive."

"I see… was Mr. Barber involved in any romantic relationships that you know of?" I asked.

Aimee shook her head, saying, "No, not that I know of. He would bring home call girls, though."

"Do you happen to know how often? Did he have a particular escort service he utilized often?"

"Garry would bring home one, sometimes two, about twice a week; three times if he was really depressed."

I looked up at her and asked, "He battled depression?"

"He said it was clinical," Aimee answered. "At least, I never noticed any prescriptions or anything like that."

I continued to prod, "How about his drinking habits? Was he a social drinker? Did he ever cause any disturbances in the neighborhood?"

"No, Detective Quest; Garry was a very good neighbor and a very dear friend to us. He handled his demons just as well as the rest of us."

"About yesterday morning: tell me more about what happened after you heard a muffled gunshot."

Aimee propped her head on her hand, saying, "I tried looking over to see if everything was okay. I walked down to the bank and tried to peer over the shrubs where I could see his deck and pier. When I couldn't see anything I walked back to my chair. Moments later I heard a few gunshots being fired into the air then one last one that sounded different. I ran back down to the bank and looked through the shrubs and that's when I saw…"

Aimee had to wipe her eyes. Seeing a dead body on the scene is not something many people can handle without emotion.

"That's when I saw her," she finished.

"Mrs. Bostic, I know it's hard, but can you tell me if you saw anyone else in the area?" I asked. "Did you hear any more strange noises?"

"Right after… right after I saw her body… I noticed a man walk up behind her."

"Can you describe this individual?"

Aimee nodded, saying, "He had real thick black hair, kind of like… kind of like I remember you having when you were younger in the news. He also had a trimmed beard, same hair color; thick eyebrows, too. He was wearing a dark business suit like you're wearing now. He just stood there and stared at her body for the longest time while the blood drained from her. I don't know if he exited through the house or jumped over the railing; I ducked down in the bushes so he wouldn't see me."

I wrote down everything the woman said verbatim.

"Mrs. Bostic, thank you for your information," I said. "I have a few more questions concerning Mr. Barber and his house. Were you aware of a bedroom in his house that had a keypad lock on it?"

She nodded, saying, "Yes… Garry said that's where he kept patient files. He said that he had to keep it locked up because of HIPAA."

HIPPA stood for the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, a law enacted in 1996 to protect patient information.

"I see… tell me, did you ever notice any strange vehicles or visitors to Mr. Barber's residence?"

"If there were, I didn't see any… sorry, detective."

I waved it off, saying, "It is okay, Mrs. Bostic. Are you able to produce names or descriptions of Mr. Barber's friends that you met at any social gatherings?"

Aimee rattled off a list of names and descriptions of who she could remember. After some wrap-up questions, she led me to the door.

"Oh, detective?" she asked before opening the door. "I do have a… well, I don't know if it's appropriate, especially at a time like this, but… my father is a real big fan of your father's work and, well, I am, too. I was wondering: would it be too much to ask if I could take my picture with you and get your autograph?"

I smiled softly.

"On one condition," I said. "You don't go plastering this all over social media."

She gasped, embarrassed, saying, "Oh, no, no… I'm just going to print it out on photo paper and send it to Dad, that's all."

"Well, we'll use my phone," I said. "Even though I'm probably breaking all sorts of protocol here, I can't say 'no' to a fan. Hell, Steven Seagal probably has to endure the same."

She smiled and stood beside me. I held my phone up at a high angle pointed downwards and took a picture; satisfied after the third attempt, I texted a copy to Aimee before autographing one of my business cards and handing it to her.

"If you see anything suspicious around the house or if something happens, please call me," I instructed her.

"I will, detective," Aimee said with a sheepish grin. "And, thank you… it means a lot. I always loved reading about your adventures in National Geographic."

"Thank you. Have a good day, Mrs. Bostic."

"You do the same, Detective Quest."

I got back in my car and looked over my notes. After talking to the sheriff, I was going to have to do some serious digging. Hopefully it wouldn't be for my own grave.


	15. Fourteen

Coleman Smoak stared at me for a moment, taken aback by my direct question concerning my father wanting to keep tabs on me. His neatly combed dark silver hair and aged complexion were unable to hide the perspiration that was building on the back of his neck. He motioned towards a pair of dark brown leather easy-chairs and said, "Sit down, Son."

I took a seat while Coleman picked up the day's newspaper and tossed it onto the oak coffee table in front of his respective chair. When he sat down, he leaned back and clasped his hands together.

"Jonathan," he said, almost mournfully. "I honestly never thought that a day like this would come, but apparently it has. Your father wanted us to alert him in the event something that seemed targeted towards you. He believes in his heart that not all of his enemies have 'retired', so to speak, or passed on."

"Do you notify every parent of every officer in this department when they're involved with something that could affect their personal life?" I asked.

"Not every parent is helping directly fund our operation in order to ease the burden on the taxpayers."

Now it was my turn to lean back in my chair. "I see," I said thoughtfully.

Coleman started to level with me, saying, "Jonny, look: as a father myself, I don't see it as meddling in your personal affairs or work. This may come as a shock, but not everyone grew up globe-trotting and pissing off people who make it their business to end the lives of others, sometimes for no personal gain other than to have the blood on their hands."

"Getting hounded by the entire damn department doesn't exactly 'tickle my pickle', Sheriff. I suppose I'm more pissed at Dad for not approaching me directly about this."

"And you have every right to be," Coleman nodded. "But the fact of the matter remains: if not for your father's endowment, we wouldn't be able to afford the number of deputies or facilities that we have. Having high property values and low unemployment alone isn't enough to keep the crime rate down, you know."

"Did he specifically hold that over your head?" I asked.

"I consider it more of an incentive, personally."

"That's all I needed to know, Sheriff. I better get back to work," I said, standing.

As I walked towards the door, Sheriff Smoak spoke up: "I know you're wondering why I haven't turned this over to the state."

I turned around and asked, "What, this whole case about me and the killings?"

Coleman rose from his chair.

"I feel the same way you do, Jonny," he said. "It's not even been a whole forty-eight hours and it already smells shittier than an entire stock yard. I don't know what the hell is going on either, but I do know one thing: you may have been a kid, but you've experienced things that nobody else I know can say they've been through. I think it would be selfish of me to keep you from doing your job just because your name gets tossed around. The public may or may not like it—hell, the state's attorney general hates me enough as it is—but I trust you, Son. I trust you enough that you know when you're over your head, which is why I'm glad you reached out to Billy. He's someone you can trust; remember that."

I gave a single nod, saying, "I will, Sheriff."

"Good. Please shut the door on your way out."

I walked out of the office and did as I was asked. As I walked back to the office Wade and I shared I tried to push my frustration with Dad aside: it would interfere with the task at hand. Wade was sitting at his desk with the large box of evidence that the lieutenant had retrieved from Rockport. He looked up at me as I walked in and said, "Welcome back. Find anything new?"

"Yeah," I said, flopping down in my chair. "I interviewed one Aimee Bostic, the next door neighbor of Mr. Barber. She said you talked to her husband yesterday."

"Oh yes," Wade said as he continued to dig through the box. "He's an engineer at some firm outside of town; said his wife is in IT support at WMCM. What'd she say?"

I filled in Wade on all the details. When I finished, he shook his head.

"So," he began. "Next question is: who's this mystery college professor slash funeral director?"

I tilted my chair back and said, "I suppose so; I still would like to know who wrote that message."

"You mean the one inside the book jacket?"

"Yeah," I said. "Have we got anything that has Pam's handwriting?"

"I'll look while you're at your therapist. I'll also start searching this list of so-called 'friends' that Mrs. Bostic gave you," Wade said. "By the way, in answer to the question you have yet to ask, the answer is: yes, I have the report from that night."

I looked over with a grim expression on my face.

"Jonny, you're going to have to read it again sometime. Or, better yet…"

Wade tossed the stapled papers across his desk and into my lap.

"Take them with you to your appointment this afternoon," he said. "I've got copies of the family information here to alert the next of kin."

"Their parents are still alive?"

Wade nodded, saying, "Yeah, they've got custody of the little girl."

I could hear her crying her name to me when I asked her.

"M… Miranda…" she managed to say.

Three years old and witnessed the shooting of her mother and her sister. I found out later in the investigation that she also witnessed the execution of her father. I ended up losing eleven pounds from lack of eating and didn't leave the house unless I had to during that time. It took the chaplain and Billy begging me to enter therapy and re-enter my role as a patrol officer that I even left the house anymore at all.

"You okay, Jon?" Wade asked.

I snapped out of it.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah… I was just… remembering."

"Hey, it's okay, dude. Dropping the hammer on somebody is not an event that should be taken lightly, especially when there are kids involved."

I looked over at Wade and questioned, "How did you cope?"

I was referring to Wade's first shooting: a high-speed chase heading towards Rockport involving a stolen Toyota Camry by a sixteen year-old kid who had nothing left to lose. After the driver lost control on a sharp turn and slammed into a utility pole, Wade jumped from his cruiser with his twelve-gauge shotgun ready. He screamed desperately for the assailant to display their hands from the shattered driver-side window. Instead, the suspect shoved open the driver's door and came out shooting.

Without hesitation, Wade squeezed the trigger. Before the expelled shell could even hit the ground, the suspect was dead. Wade went to his knees.

The suspect was a young brunette girl who had finally snapped. After being told that she could no longer see her current beau, she took her father's nine-millimeter semiautomatic handgun and took off. The blast from Wade's shotgun tore through her slim, almost-anorexic body. He ran to her side as she wept, constantly saying "I'm sorry Daddy… I'm so sorry…"

She died just as the ambulance arrived on the scene.

Wade had been oblivious to the bullets that struck him in the chest, miraculously stopped by his bulletproof vest. One stray round lodged itself in his right forearm while another grazed his neck, nearly hitting his carotid artery.

"When I figure that out," Wade said, referring to my question on coping. "I'll let you know."

We returned to our work, writing reports and discussing information learned from the case. When lunchtime rolled around, my phone's intercom system lit up.

Brittany's sweet, bullshitting voice came across the speaker: "Jonny, there's a really sweet redhead here with her father and they would like to know why you requested a warrant for indecent exposure?"

"Because that redhead's father subjecting people to his nudity constitutes a war crime," I replied. "I'll be up in a second."

"Jesus, Jonny; how many women do you have?" Wade asked with his tongue planted firmly in his cheek, figuratively.

"Ones I pay for or ones I have to abduct in the van that says 'FREE CANDY' on the side?"

"Get the fuck out of here," he said with a laugh. "I'll see you after your therapist appointment. Try to put in a good word for me, will you?"

"Wade, the only good word anyone could apply to you is the 'F' word. And 'asshat'."

"I'm going to shove your 1911 up your ass if you don't get out of here, now beat it."

I smiled as I pulled on my coat. I hoped that Wade would be able to turn up something while I was out. Still, the thought of the mystery bearded man lingered beside the thought of Dad.

But first, there was sustenance to be had.


	16. Fifteen

We chose a newly opened Chick-fil-A near the local Chevrolet dealership. I had only been to Chick-fil-A a few times during my travels growing up and really enjoyed their food; according to the packed restaurant, a lot of the locals did, too. We sat in a booth next to a wide array of windows overlooking the parking lot and beyond. Race had begun sporting a rough, unshaven look: in his dark green plaid shirt and jeans, he looked more akin to a lumberjack ready to take on a sequoia. Jessie was wearing one of my old black t-shirts and a pair of knee-length white denim shorts.

"I guess I should be surprised that thing fits you," I said, nodding towards her attire. "But, then again, aren't boys supposed to have longer torsos than women?"

Jessie took a sip of her sweet tea, saying, "Well, I only weigh about ten pounds more than you did when we were kids. Besides, I couldn't resist."

"Couldn't resist crossdressing?"

"Be nice," Race said cautiously. "She _is_ a Marine, you know…"

"But I have a gun," I countered. "And I can throw people in the slammer and shit."

Race laughed.

"Well, I guess you got a point there, Jonny," he said before turning to Jessie. "How long will you be up, Ponchita?"

"About a month. Then I've got some special assignment at Lejeune—they won't tell me what, though."

"Sounds fun," I said. I turned to Race and asked, "Heard about my latest adventure?"

Race nodded, saying, "Oh yes, Elena and me saw it on the news last night. You think you've got this covered alright?"

"The victim wrote his name in a book," Jessie blurted.

I gave Jessie an unpleasant look while Race looked at her before looking at me.

"Wrote your name in a book?" he asked in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

I sighed, "The girl that was found dead appears to have written some sentence about me, in particular, being the 'key' to something. What it is, I'm not sure; what I do know is that there was a room in that house that had… information."

Race kept his gaze on me. I took a final sip of my Coca-Cola.

"Race, they had biographies on all of us… and a picture of Mom, a picture that only I or Dad would have. It was like someone was compiling complete profiles on us."

Jessie's father sat back in the booth. He turned to Jessie and asked, "Did you know?"

"I found out last night," Jessie said. "Jonny hasn't told Dr. Quest, yet."

"And," I interjected. "I'm aware of an unspoken policy at work that Dad is to be notified should anything with my name specifically appear. I guess it would be safe to assume this policy also holds true with my friends as well?"

Race began to say, "Jonny, you need to understand…"

"Understand what?" I shot back. "Understand that apparently I can't be trusted to handle situations by myself? What else is Dad keeping tabs on me about? My sex life? What I eat for breakfast every morning?"

"Jonny, it's not like that."

"Then what is it then? Race, no offense, but you and Dad are in no shape to be doing what we did all those years ago. It wouldn't be so much of a big deal if I was aware of this up front, but I don't appreciate secrets."

"Jonny, calm down," Jessie pleaded. "Please."

I took a few deep breaths and settled back in my seat. I put my face in my hands.

"I'm sorry," I said with a heavy breath. "I… I just don't like having things hid from me when they can affect my life. I want to know exactly what Dad is trying to protect me from; I don't want any more surprises."

Race and his daughter gave sympathetic looks.

"Jonny, I know that Benton only has your welfare in his best interests," Race said. "He asked us and the department to keep him in the loop should anything suspicious come up that singled you out. In actuality, Sergeant Carpenter called me yesterday immediately after he discovered the book."

"So you were feigning surprise, right?" I asked.

"Yes and no… I didn't know anything about these 'biographies', as you put it, nor did I know anything about this picture of your mom you mentioned. All I knew was that you were named as an integral part to something specifically in a paperback novel. That is all I know."

I stared at Race for a moment.

"I'm telling the truth, Jonny," he said firmly.

I crossed my arms, saying, "I've been told that before and proven wrong. So, does Dad know?"

"He does know, yes."

"And his opinion is…?"

Race shook his head, saying, "He's checking his sources. Jonny, please… I don't want you to be mad at Benton for trying to help you. I'll be the first to admit: it probably is a shitty way of him doing it, given what's happened in the past ten years. He just wants to help, Son."

I unfolded my arms.

"He's never really talked about Mom," I said. "He's avoided that subject all my life. I want to know what happened to her. I want to know everything, Race."

"I'll talk to Benton," he assured me.

"I'm still pissed about this."

Race nodded, "I understand."

I looked over at Jessie who was staring down at the table solemnly. I already knew the answer to the question I wanted to ask, so I didn't waste my breath. I let out another hard sigh.

"Can you guys take me to my appointment, please?" I asked.

"Yeah," Race said quietly.

Jessie remained silent.

As we exited the restaurant and walked towards Jessie's car, she put her hand on my shoulder. I stopped and faced her.

"I… I want you to know, that I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking.

I looked down at her gray and pink New Balance sneakers and slipped my hands in my pockets.

"We can talk about it later, Jess," I replied. "I just… I just don't want to talk about it right now."

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

I looked up into her shimmering emerald eyes.

She continued, "If it is any consolation, Dr. Quest didn't ask Melissa to do this; only us, including Hadji."

I reassessed my earlier assumption about the question that I never asked before reevaluating my feelings on the whole ordeal. I knew deep down that staying mad at those involved—with the exception of Dad—would be futile, as they were only carrying out the request of a respected friend or mentor. I shook my head, saying, "No, Jessie; I'm not mad at you, your dad, anybody… just, my dad."

She gave a small nod.

"I hope you understand why," I said.

Jessie gave another small nod before replying, "I'm also sorry about back then."

I turned away from her and continued to watch my polished shoes as we walked across the parking lot.

"It's in the past now, Jessie; water under the bridge."

Water that I wish I had drowned in.


	17. Sixteen

"How are you coping with this?" Dr. Hull asked as she crossed her legs.

Dr. Windy Hull was a voluptuous Asian lady who managed to listen to my ramblings and inner demons without passing judgment. At least, I hope she wasn't. Her long midnight-colored hair was tied into a high ponytail resting over the edge of her chair. Wearing a single-button dark khaki jacket over a white cotton blouse and skirt, Dr. Hull presented herself as a serious, no-bullshit businesswoman; her endearing, compassionate gaze across her soft complexion told a different story, however. In her lap was one of my many file folders.

"I'm not sure," was my response, in regards to her question concerning the case. "This is different."

"Because this is the first time someone has specifically targeted you, in particular?"

I shifted in my seat on her dark green overstuffed couch. Dr. Hull's office looked like a section torn out of the Knox County Public Library with its antique in-wall bookshelves, matching antique lamps, and Dr. Hull's solid oak desk. She was sitting across from me; a glass coffee table, sustaining both her cup and mine, divided us. I took a sip of my coffee and returned it to its coaster.

"It's not the first time per se… the last time someone directly targeted me was when I was in high school: Jeremiah Surd. He died the following year in prison."

Dr. Hull nodded, saying, "I remember. You said something earlier in our session about your father wanting to check up on you, to keep him alerted if a situation like this comes up, where you're believed to be targeted. Why do you resent that?"

"I'm twenty-seven years old and already have the responsibility of telling people why their loved ones are either dead, missing, or caused others to end up dead or missing; I think I can handle my own business, Dr. Hull."

"Maybe so, Jonny," she said. "But, what if your dad is afraid of you getting overwhelmed? You're obviously still affected by the shooting. How many more shootings have you been involved in since then?"

I shrugged, saying, "I haven't had to shoot anybody, but I have had to draw my weapon plenty of times."

"And you think your father is being overprotective?"

"I think overbearing would be a more appropriate term."

"Why?" Dr. Hull asked.

"He made it his business to ask everyone around me, including my employer, to keep a check on me without having the courtesy of at least asking if that was appropriate or if I minded," I said. "I hate and will always hate being the last one to know something about myself or my life."

"Has he ever done something like this before?"

I took another sip of coffee.

"I'm really not sure, to be honest. I know he has been rather secretive about certain things in my life that we have discussed before."

"Like your mother?"

"She seems to be a recurring theme, lately. I went out on a limb and, through the power of my amazing detective skills, deduced that she is the lynchpin in this whole thing."

Dr. Hull smiled, saying, "You are my favorite patient for a reason, Jonny, and not just because of your father's fame."

"Well," I said with a sly smile. "I have been told that I can be quite 'cute' at times."

"So… does your father know about this? Or does he only know about your name showing up in a fiction bestseller?"

"As far as I know he just knows my name showed up in a book. I told Melissa, Jessie, and Race, so word will probably travel back to Dad quickly. I imagine the only reason he isn't calling is because he wants to see how I react."

"You think he's hiding something?" she asked.

"Possibly," I said. "My father is a hard man to read, Dr. Hull; you should know that, he _is_ your patient as well."

"I can't argue with that. Is there anything I can help you with in your case, Jonny?"

"Can you tell me anything about Garry Barber? I mean, did you two ever network or know of each other?"

"I'm sorry, Jonny," Dr. Hull said. "I never knew him personally or professionally. All I know is what you have told me. I'll ask around and see if any of my colleagues can provide you with some more information."

"Thanks, Dr. Hull," I said before polishing off the rest of my coffee.

After finishing our session, Dr. Hull walked me to the receptionist area. The fancy art decoration and decorative plants gave the office a real pristine feel. Behind the counter the receptionist, Brianna, a young black lady with short, spiky hair and a medium figure, smiled as she entered my next scheduled appointment. Dr. Hull looked at me as she slid my file across the polished black countertop and said, "Be careful out there, Jonny."

"I will, Dr. Hull," I said as I removed my wallet. "Let me know if you find anything out."

"I will."

I paid my copayment as required by my insurance company and received my appointment card. As I walked through the glass entry doors and into the parking lot I saw Jessie sitting in her Mazda in a parking spot, waiting for me as I had requested. She had dropped Race off at Dad's offices while I was in my appointment; this would probably lead to an awkward silence back to the office. I climbed into the passenger seat and settled into the leather interior.

"How was it?" she asked as she started the engine.

I looked over with a small smile and said, "It was okay. I like talking to Dr. Hull."

Jessie returned a small smile herself.

"Good," she replied as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

A few moments passed before Jessie spoke up: "About earlier… I really am sorry, Jonny."

"It's okay," I said. "You were just doing what you thought was right. I know you wouldn't go out of your way to hurt me."

She nodded.

"I'm sorry if I seem like I don't believe you—I do—I just feel so unsure about what you said concerning, you know…"

"It's in the past, Jessie; that's where it belongs and that's where it's going to stay."

Her hand was resting on the shifter. I placed my hand on top of it as a sign of solidarity and comfort. Jessie looked back over at me, her eyes watering, and smiled.

"I still love you," she said. "I hope you know that."

Before I could answer, my phone started ringing. I told Jessie to hold that thought as I checked the caller identification screen before flipping open my phone.

"Yeah, boss?" I asked.

"If Jessie is driving, she has my permission to go code three," Wade said on the other end. "We've got something."

"No shit?"

"One of those friends might be able to provide more clues to the mystery man the Bostic lady said she saw after the shooting. Haul ass back here as quick as you can."

Wade hung up and I did the same. I turned back to Jessie and said, "Turn on your hazards and run through red lights, blow your horn as much as you have to. We've got to get back to the office _now_."

"What's wrong?" She asked as she sped up.

"One of the victim's friends knows something about a mysterious figure that showed up after the girl shot herself."

Jessie stared straight ahead to concentrate on traffic.

As much as I wanted to, I would've told Jessie that a part of me still loved her, too.


	18. Seventeen

"So what did you tell her?" Wade asked as we rode towards the small town of Cushing.

I lit a cigarette and said, "I asked her if we could talk about it later."

We were discussing Jessie. Wade might've been my supervisor but he was also a close confidant in law enforcement and personal matters.

"What'd she say?"

"She said we could," I replied, blowing out my first puff. "Maybe tomorrow evening; she's staying up the road at her dad's."

Wade nodded, saying, "Just be careful, Jonny. I know it's hard to put out old flames and, while it's best to bury the hatchet, it's not a good idea to bury it in anybody's head. I just don't want to see you fucking up what you have with Melissa."

"I won't, Wade; I love Melissa, I want to _be_ with Melissa."

The rest of the car ride was silent save for the radio chatter. When we arrived at the turnoff for the road near the wooded coast, I checked the GPS mounted on the windshield.

"Fire road… yeah, this is it," I said.

As we turned off onto the dirt road that weaved through a thick forest, Wade remarked, "This area reminds me of that Scooby Doo movie where Shaggy kept turning into a werewolf."

"You actually remember that movie?" I asked him.

"What can I say? I thought his cartoon girlfriend in that movie was hot."

"…and obviously had a thing for stoners."

After about a quarter of a mile of dirt road we came upon a large house overlooking Bailey Point. The house was an immaculate mixture of dark brown and sand-colored brick with a dark gray shingle roof with a medium pitch. Clear double-hung windows with a white trim spotted the exterior while a well cultivated and maintained shrub line consisting of many varieties of colorful bushes rounded the perimeter of the home.

We stepped up onto the wooden front porch; Wade rang the doorbell. Almost immediately it opened to a beautifully tanned older woman with large dark blue eyes and a rounded face. Wearing a neon green sport tank-top, black running shorts, and a pair of white Nike running shoes, she looked like she was ready to take a bout in the tennis court or run a marathon. Her arched eyebrows gave a sense of allure as did her medium build.

"Mrs. Kellaway?" Wade asked.

The woman nodded, saying, "Yes, I'm Savannah Kellaway."

We removed our badges and showed them to Mrs. Kellaway while Wade introduced us. After she was convinced we were the real deal, she stepped aside and let us into her home.

"You'll have to forgive the mess," she said. "Let's go into the kitchen."

We veered off to the right into a fancy kitchen. Polished oversized tiles with nary a speck of dirt in their grout composed the floor while decorative overhead track lighting and recessed spotlights littered the ceiling. The solid wood cabinets and stainless steel appliances spoke of an affluent resident as did the immaculate dark green countertop. We stepped over to an exquisite Queen Anne styled dining room table and chairs made of very expensive cherry wood.

"Mrs. Kellaway, you knew Garry Barber, correct?" Wade asked.

"Yes, that's correct," Savannah replied. "Garry was a close personal friend of mine for many years; we used to share an office out in Nevada."

"You're a psychiatrist, too?"

"No, I'm a retired dentist. I'm originally from Union but went out west to get away from the Atlantic for a while during college."

Wade continued interrogating Savannah about her background and her relationship with the victim. They had been involved in numerous on-again off-again relationships that never really came to fruition, instead opting for a more "friends with benefits" situation. Savannah's husband had left her for another man—unusual, but not uncommon in today's world with many opting to "bat for the other team" sometimes just for the sheer aspect of experimentation—and Garry was a welcome shoulder. She had a son and a daughter who still lived in Nevada while her younger brother lived in Rockport. Other family such as cousins, aunts, and uncles littered the northeast. Both of her parents were deceased.

Wade then turned to me as on cue: it was my turn to find out what I wanted to know.

"Mrs. Kellaway," I started. "You informed Sergeant Carpenter over the phone that you had information about a gentleman that matched the description of a person of interest that was seen by a neighbor immediately after the shooting. Can you go into more detail, please?"

Savannah nodded, saying, "Yes, of course, Detective Quest. The only person I can think of that fits that description would be Thomas Earley."

Wade pulled out a folded up printout of the names that Aimee Bostic had given me and quickly scanned it.

"Jonny," Wade said with a frown. "He's not listed on here."

"Mrs. Kellaway, do you know the Bostic couple?" I asked.

"Yes, they're very sweet and really liked Garry. They were a common guest at his house parties," Savannah said. "Why?"

"Did they ever meet this Thomas Earley guy? Exactly who is he and what is he about?"

"Dr. Earley is a brilliant psychiatrist and chemist; he was a close personal friend of Garry as well. Garry often helped him with his research. In fact, just about everyone that came to Garry's gatherings met Dr. Earley one way or the other—he was a very active social networker. He was also a cat fancier; loved Aimee and Perry's kitty, Dreamy."

"I'm sorry?" I asked. "They only have one cat?"

Savannah nodded and said, "Yes, just one cat: a tuxedo named Dreamy. She's the most pompous sack of hair I've ever seen in my entire life."

"Did they get a new cat recently?"

"No… at least, if they did, they probably would've posted it on Facebook. Aimee is always taking pictures of Dreamy doing what she does best: occupying space with her eyes closed like a typical stupid cat."

I could feel a cold sweat forming on the back of my neck.

"Mrs. Kellaway, do you know where Dr. Earley works or has an office?" I asked.

She leaned back in her chair and thought for a minute.

"If I'm not mistaken," she said. "He's currently teaching and researching at the University of Maine in their psychology department. I think he's also got a doctorate in psychology as well. Dr. Earley is like your father… a really brilliant man."

We wrapped up our interview and left business cards with Savannah. On the way back to the car I turned to Wade and instructed him to drive to the Bostic house on the double.

"I imagine something isn't adding up," he said as he cranked the car.

I ran my hand through my short blonde hair and responded with: "It's that fucking cat… Something's not right and I'll be goddamned if I'm not crazy. Maybe I'm being paranoid? Maybe I just heard the lady wrong?"

"Or maybe you just don't want to believe what your instincts are telling you."

"Maybe so…"

Wade spun the unmarked car around in the driveway with a slight squeal of the tires and turned on the lights and siren. He instructed me to hold onto my ass as we tore through the dirt road. I checked my gun and chambered a bullet. I wasn't about to take any chances… not this time…


	19. Eighteen

As Wade drove up the highway back towards Rockland, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cellphone. I immediately selected her number from the text message I sent and called it. On the fourth ring a whispered voice came across the line, "…Hello?"

"Mrs. Bostic, this is Detective Quest," I said. "Are you still at home?"

Her breathing became really shallow.

"Yes," she whispered. "Please hurry… he'll kill me if he sees me talking to you…"

"What are you talking about? Who's going to kill you?"

Aimee tried to catch her breath. Finally, she said, "My husband, Perry… he was here when you were here this morning. Thank God you called…"

"Where are you at now, Aimee?" I asked.

"I'm… I'm under the house… I'm going to try and sneak over to Garry's house; I know where a spare key is…"

"No, stay put," I ordered. "We'll be there…"

The phone call immediately ended. I looked at Wade who pressed down on the accelerator harder. I picked up the mic to the radio and called dispatch.

"County H-2 to dispatch," I said before releasing the talk button.

A male dispatcher came across the air: "Dispatch copies, county."

I informed the dispatcher of the suspected crime currently taking place and requested uniformed backup to block access to the highway on which the Bostic family lived to keep traffic from intervening. Wade was doing upwards of eighty miles per hour, though it would take another good ten minutes to arrive. I requested that all units respond quietly and standby.

Another five minutes passed and my phone rang. I answered it with, "Yeah?"

Aimee's voice came across the line and asked, "Detective Quest?"

"Aimee, where are you?"

"I made it next door to Garry's house. Perry doesn't know I'm here—he still thinks I'm hiding inside the house. He's tearing it apart looking for me… I was going to lock myself in Garry's file room but someone kicked the door off the hinges."

"Listen," I said. "Are all the doors and windows locked?"

"Yes," she said. "The curtains are drawn and all the lights are off. Are the police coming?"

"We're getting there as fast as we can, Mrs. Bostic. I want you to find somewhere you can hide that your husband won't be able to get to you."

"Okay, hang on."

I heard movement, a loud creaking noise, and then a loud bang.

I shouted into the phone, "Aimee?!"

"I'm okay," she said almost immediately. "I'm hiding in the attic. I was hoping you would find a few things suspicious about me. Which was it, my dad or California?"

"Surprisingly… it was the cat. What's up with your dad?"

"He died five years ago from prostate cancer," Aimee explained. "I hoped and I prayed that you would come back and rescue me. Perry was listening the entire time; he said if I didn't answer the way we rehearsed then he'd kill me."

"And mentioning Dr. Earley? Was that part of the plan?" I asked.

"No… I heard Perry sneak off to the back bedroom, probably to call Dr. Earley. Jonny, please hurry…"

"We're coming as fast as we can, Aimee; just hold on. Is Perry armed? What's wrong with him that has him wanting to hurt you?"

"I can't explain that now," she cried. "You just have to get here…"

"Give us five minutes," Wade said. "We're almost in Rockport."

"Listen, I've got to go. Does your husband have a gun?" I asked.

"Yes… I don't know where he got it," Aimee replied.

"Stay put. Text me if he starts searching the house."

Aimee acknowledged and ended the call. I slipped my phone back into my inner coat pocket. We tore onto the highway leading to the neighborhood where the Bostic family lived. What seemed like an eternity was mere minutes as the first marked unit came into view. Deputy Katherine Palmer, only five-foot-six and able to take down people three times her size, was redirecting traffic in the opposite direction. Her long dark brown hair and big brown eyes immediately focused on us as we pulled up next to her. I rolled down the window so we could talk.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Give Jonny your shotgun, Kate," Wade said. "And be prepared for a high-speed pursuit. Call the state and give them a heads up just in case."

Without question, Katherine went straight to her cruiser and retrieved her department-issue Remington 870 twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun. As she slid the cold black steel and matching-color grips into the car, an eerie silence fell upon the environment around us. Katherine dropped a handful of black shells into my lap.

"These are the heavy density shot shells: it'll stop whatever is coming at you in a heartbeat," she said.

"Thanks, Kate," I replied with a nod before pumping them into the gun.

She backed up to her cruiser as we slowly drove down the deserted highway. Another marked patrol car followed us with backup: Corporal Chandler Moss and Deputy Jackie Bumgarner. Onlookers watched from their living room windows; some brave souls actually ventured out onto their front porches. As we pulled into the driveway of the Bostic house, I immediately noticed the front door was open.

"Jonny," Wade said. "Give me your forty-five."

I obliged. Wade pulled the slide back to ensure a bullet was chambered before we exited the vehicle. Chandler, a deputy three years my junior with a shaved head and dark goatee, and Jackie, a senior deputy with trimmed red hair and a large stature, exited their vehicle with weapons drawn. Wade ordered Chandler to cover the back while Jackie was left in charge of the front.

"Jonny, you take the front door and provide cover while I try to make contact," the detective sergeant commanded.

I gave a single nod and began to slowly approach the front door, shotgun ready with my vision staring down the sights. I could hear rambunctious movement coming from inside the domicile—Aimee wasn't kidding when she suggested that her husband was tearing the house apart. I stepped over to the side of the doorway on the outside with my gun pointed inward towards the back of the house. Wade positioned himself on the other side of the entrance across from me on the front porch.

He yelled into the house, "Sheriff's department! Mr. Bostic, this is Sergeant Carpenter with the Knox County Sheriff's Office! Drop any weapons you have and show me your hands!"

A very irate male voice snapped back, "Fuck you!"

"Don't make me come in there!" Wade yelled back.

It was typical of Wade to treat suspects like misbehaving children: misbehaving, armed-to-the-teeth, suicide-by-cop children.

My sense of smell started to pick up something strangely familiar.

"You smell that?" I asked Wade.

He sniffed the air. Immediately, his eyes went wide and he screamed "RUN!" Unfortunately, the explosion and fireball that followed drowned out any other audible sound that I could hear. I dove off the porch as the heat of a natural gas explosion breathed upon my entire backside. The ringing in my ears from all the windows being blown out of their respective frames and oxygen being sucked out of my lungs to feed the raging fire slowly gave way to a sound I always dreaded.

Wade was screaming.

I flipped over to see a fire ravaging the once cute little house that occupied the lakeside. In the grass, Wade was rolling around and shedding clothes, desperately trying to get the flames off of him. Then I looked to the front door of the house that once was: Perry Bostic was walking through it set ablaze. As his skin burned and fell off his body, he held up a gun pointed directly at Wade. Jackie began firing but was unable to land a shot due to the smoke. However, I was close enough to get a clear line of sight. Perry's charring corpse fired four rounds towards Wade, causing Wade to scream even louder.

During routine training, they showed us traffic incidents where drivers and, sometimes, passengers would exit their vehicle and ambush the officer. The blood-curdling cries, the swearing, the pleading for mercy, it was no match for the real thing. I came up on my knees, pointed the Remington handed to me by Deputy Palmer, and fired upon the assailant. Perry Bostic fell backwards into his burning foyer as the ceiling and walls collapsed on him. I threw the shotgun away and scrambled over to Wade's side.

It was bad.

It was real bad.

He finally stopped rolling and looked at me, and, in a voice that continues to haunt me, asked, "Am I going to die, Jonny?"

With tears streaming down my face, I could only say the only thing that was for certain.

"I don't know…"


	20. Nineteen

Wade was transported to Pen Bay Medical Center in Rockport off highway one before he was airlifted to Maine Medical Center in Portland. I was checked over by the paramedics and suffered only minor burns on the back of my neck—my suit jacket protected most of my back—and minor cuts from debris being projected from the explosion. Wade had made the near-fatal mistake of running in front of the picture window which allowed the ensuing fireball to engulf his face and most of his upper body. He had fallen over the porch railing and began rolling on the ground to try and extinguish his burning clothes. Clinging to life, it would be up to the trauma team at Maine Medical to address three gunshot wounds and the extensive second-and-third degree burns he suffered.

Melissa wiped her eyes as she rested her head on my chest, arms wrapped around me. Her brightly colored silk blouse reminded me of how I used to joke about how many peacocks gave their life for that garment. We were sitting in the front lobby of the sheriff's department on a wooden bench supplied for visitors when Sheriff Smoak walked in through the front door. The time was approaching seven-thirty in the evening; we had been waiting to hear news of Wade's condition for the past two hours.

"He's in real bad shape," Coleman said as he pulled up a chair. "Half of his scalp is charred; he threw up his arms to protect his face which is why he's not blind, but it exposed his chest and sides. That was real quick thinking for what you did, Jonny—Wade could've been a lot worse had it not been for you."

Even as the house fire raged, I knew the water was still accessible. I located the spigot on the side of the house that thankfully didn't sustain much damage and grabbed the garden hose hung on it. I immediately began applying cold water to Wade's body while others went to try and retrieve light cloth to protect the wounds.

"Wade's going to be in surgery for the next few hours; don't know when he's going to get out. Brittany is driving Lori and Aria there now as we speak. All three members of forensics are combing over what's left of that house now."

I didn't say anything.

"Jonny," Coleman said solemnly. "In the last forty-eight hours, we've accumulated three bodies, one severely injured deputy, and a book that points at you for answers. I know it's a lot to ask, and I know that I'm probably going to get yelled at for breaking our own policies, but you're the best suited for the job and we're also understaffed. Regardless, I know that even though you're under an intense amount of stress, nothing would keep you out of this office even if I barred the damn door. I have to ask, anyway: are you okay with foregoing your required administrative leave and continuing the investigation?"

I looked at Coleman straight in the eye.

He gave an understanding nod before standing.

"Miss Bostic is in your office whenever you're ready," he said. "I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about. Melissa, you can stay here as long as you want. In fact, I would prefer if you did stay here."

"I will, Sheriff," Melissa said softly.

As he walked off, I heard Coleman remark, "This whole town is going to shit…"

He was right. Thankfully, Coleman knew that I worked best without interference: he would keep the media at bay while I dug my way down deeper into the rabbit hole. I looked down at Melissa who looked up into my eyes.

"I need to go talk to her," I said in a hoarse whisper.

Melissa put her hand on my cheek and replied, "Are you going to be okay?"

She knew the answer. Like Coleman, I think she felt an obligation to ask.

"Not really. I know we should probably eat sooner or later, as well. I wonder when they're going to watch the news…"

I was referring to Dad, Race, and the others. I knew my father preferred to watch the late evening news at eleven unless something major was going on. I handed Melissa my phone with instructions to field any calls I received. She agreed and we shared a kiss before I departed for my office down the hallway. Upon entering, Aimee was sitting at my desk with her head in her hands sobbing uncontrollably. I gently shut the door and hung up my slightly burned suit jacket.

Aimee removed a tissue from my box of Kleenex and wiped her eyes.

"I'm… I'm sorry, detective," she said. "I didn't know…"

"It is okay, Aimee," I said reassuringly. "I don't know what got into your husband either. Did he receive a phone call or visit from anyone before I arrived this morning?"

She nodded, saying, "Yes, a phone call—it was an unlisted number."

"Was it Dr. Earley?" I asked.

"No… he never calls. He always just seems to show up whenever he wants."

"And after your husband got off the phone, that's when he started acting erratic?"

"Yes," Aimee said, taking another tissue. "Look, to understand… you're going to have to know the whole story and our involvement."

I sat back in Wade's chair.

"Okay then," I replied. "Enlighten me."

"When I was in high school I developed endometriosis. It was bad enough to warrant a complete hysterectomy. Perry knew about my inability before we got married but we did it anyway. Normally, people in this situation would simply adopt. There's just one caveat with that…"

"And what's that, Miss Bostic?" I asked.

"Perry is a registered sex offender."

"Excuse me?"

Aimee nodded, saying, "When he was seventeen, his next door neighbor accused him of rape. She was thirteen years old and had a major crush on him. When he wouldn't respond to her advances she decided to exact revenge in the worst way possible. Nobody believes he's innocent except for his parents and his siblings. Everyone else in his family has disowned him."

"So… how does Dr. Earley play into this?"

"When we met Garry and became introduced to Dr. Earley he learned about our little problem. He said he had friends in some pretty high places that could erase that from his record. The only thing he asked for in return was to volunteer for an experiment he was doing. He said he was doing some research in behavioral modification patterns and we were in the ideal age group."

"What did he exactly… do?" I asked.

"Well," Aimee said with a heavy sigh. "We would be picked up from our home and placed in a cargo van. I thought it was weird but, you know, I really just wanted to be able to have a child of my own somehow… They would drive for what seemed like an hour and then we would get out. The place was a large research facility in the middle of nowhere… all I could see were trees."

"Can you describe what this facility looked like?"

"It looked like a mix of a hospital and small skyscraper. I don't remember the inside as they would put blindfolds on us; they said it was to protect other patients."

I pressed further, "And these sessions, can you describe them?"

Aimee started to cry, saying, "I'm sorry, detective… I just... I just don't remember."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. As she turned in the seat to grab another tissue, she looked down at my desk and stopped.

"What is it?" I asked.

She picked up the Dean Koontz book _Night Chills_ that was sitting next to my keyboard.

"This book… I've seen it before," she replied.

"Probably at a bookstore or Wal-Mart…"

"No, no… I mean, I've seen Dr. Earley with _this_ particular title before. I've never read it myself but I do know he always kept a copy on his desk."

I leaned forward and asked, "You've been inside his office?"

"I can barely remember; it's all still very cloudy. But I do remember his desk had a glass countertop… I remember alcohol, he likes to drink… and I remember seeing this book a lot."

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I said.

Deputy Palmer poked her head in room.

"Jonny, the firearm recovered off of Bostic is registered to Michael Slagle, the guy who owns the bookstore downtown," she said.

 _Oh shit_ , I thought.

I immediately picked up the phone and dialed the Slagle's private line, a number given to a select few who they could trust given their private nature. On the third ring the phone picked up and a man's voice came across the line: "Took you long enough."

"Who is this?" I asked.

"We'll meet soon enough, Jonny," the man responded. "What you need to understand now is that there's been a fuck up of epic proportions and Earley is mopping up. I'm trying to keep him from increasing your body count. If you help me, I'll help you."

Again, silence overtook me.

"Think about it," he said. "I'll be in touch."

Before I could say anything the call ended. I dialed the number again. The man picked up once more and said, "Yes, the Slagle family is fine: they are somewhere safe where Thom can't get to them. See you soon, sweet cheeks."

Immediately he hung up. I dialed back and received no answer. After the fourth futile attempt, I resigned myself to Wade's desk. None of this was making sense.

"Aimee," I said without looking up. "I want you to take a Greyhound bus to Palm Beach. The terminal is in Waterville. Open the first drawer there on my desk and reach inside to feel underneath the desktop. There will be an envelope there containing enough money for you to pay cab fare and buy a ticket to Florida; should have enough to get something to eat along the way since it's a long trip. When you arrive in Palm Beach, go to this address that I'm writing down and hand the receptionist this message. She will give you everything you need to stay safe and fed until this is over. You are not, under any circumstances, to contact any other law enforcement agency, family member, friend, or even so much as a goddamn telemarketer without my permission. Do you understand?"

Aimee nodded fervently.

I finished jotting down the note, signed it, and handed it over. Aimee did as she was told and retrieved the envelope of cash from my drawer. I instructed her on how to contact me if trouble came up or if she needed to contact someone else. She was my only lead at the moment and I needed her to stay alive as long as humanly possible.

"Melissa, my fiancée out in the lobby, should be able to call a cab for you. She's the blonde lady with the big blue eyes and peacock shirt," I instructed.

"Okay," Aimee said.

I opened the door for us to leave but was stopped—Aimee had placed her hand on my arm.

"Detective… Jonny, I… I am sorry about all of this," she said, trying to fight an emotional breakdown. "All I wanted was a family, that's all. Is that too much to ask?"

I turned and looked at the poor woman who had just been dragged through hell.

"I don't think it is, Miss Bostic," I said solemnly. "Though, not having one myself, I'm not sure if I'm the right person to be asking. The one who would is currently recovering from being a human s'more."

She wiped her nose and gave a small nod.

Realizing what I had said, I apologized: "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that…"

"No," she said. "No, you're right… I owe you men my life, even though I don't deserve it."

"I'm not the one to judge, Aimee; I leave matters like that up to God."

Aimee smirked, saying, "God… yeah, He must really love you and Sergeant Carpenter to be tangled up with me."

"Wade was always a firm believer in John 15:13."

"I don't know what it says."

"Look it up," I said as I took my coat off the hook. "We're both going to have some serious reading to do tonight."


	21. Twenty

The Denny's off highway one, locally known as Commercial Street in Rockport, was quiet that evening. Melissa and I sat in a back booth towards the restrooms across from the diner counter. I slowly sipped my coffee as Melissa silently ate her half of a mushroom-and-Swiss burger we were sharing. Hadji would be arriving shortly; he had made it into town earlier in the day and had been getting settled at Dad's house. Dad had turned the television on early that night while eating dinner when they ran a story on the incident that occurred earlier in the evening involving the explosion. I sat at the front desk in the lobby of the sheriff's department and told him over the phone that I was fine physically and gave him a few details about what had taken place. When I was informed that Hadji was in the area, I requested his presence.

Melissa looked up from her plate and asked, "How is it?"

"It's good," I said softly before taking a deep breath. "Did you know Hadji has a girlfriend now?"

I was trying to keep my mind occupied with happier thoughts.

"No, I didn't; what's her name?"

"A Greek girl named Melana Petros. They met at Duke and coincidentally wound up at Johns Hopkins together."

Melissa smiled softly and drank some of her Sprite.

I looked up towards the exit and saw my brother walk in through the glass doors.

"Speak of the devil," I said.

Hadji had grown into a very suave man with his styled thick black hair and clean-shaven, clear complexion. With his bright red cotton polo and tan khakis, I laughed on the inside at the thought of him being overdressed for a place such as Denny's. I waved at Hadji who made a beeline to our booth. I stood up and hugged my kindred soul.

"It's been too long, my brother," he said when we parted. He turned to Melissa and said, "As it has with you, young lady."

Melissa smiled and got up to hug Hadji. After our initial greetings Melissa scooted in and I sat beside her so that Hadji could sit across from me.

"Father tells me that you've been having quite an adventure," he said.

Our waitress dropped off a fresh cup of coffee for Hadji and greeted him. Growing up, Denny's was a regular late-night sanctuary for our unbelievable metabolisms and shenanigans. After the waitress parted, I said, "You have no idea…"

"So, let's start from the beginning," Hadji said. "Or would you prefer to discuss the entire ordeal Thursday at dinner?"

I drank the rest of my coffee and replied, "I would rather us tackle this on a need-to-know basis. Has Jessie or Race told you anything? What about Dad?"

"Jessie and I didn't discuss it, no; nor did Race. Father was rather mum on the subject as well. I imagine they all felt it better if I went to the source."

"That's a relief," I sighed.

I explained to Hadji the past forty-eight hours from start to finish. He listened intently with no interruption. After I finished he sat back and pondered momentarily.

"This definitely doesn't sound like Surd accomplished back then with the neural interference," Hadji said. "This sounds like it even predates that sort of technology. I'm not even sure who would be able to accomplish this unless they had vast amounts of resources. You do not think it could be Dr. Zin, do you?"

"I don't think so… but then again, what the hell do I know?"

"The picture of your mother," my brother continued. "What did you say was written on the back of it?"

"Another name… Judith Waterston," I replied.

Melissa spoke up, saying, "I haven't been able to pull up anything; it seems to be a pretty common name. LinkedIn and Facebook returned too many results to count."

"Jonny, I know this is going to sound rather crude but… have you considered running a credit check on your mother's social security number?"

I rubbed my face: that did seem like a good plausible start.

"That's a good idea, Hadji," I said. "I guess I'll have to ask Dad for all of that info."

He nodded, saying, "Indeed. What about the book? Has there been any information from the medical examiner about the bodies?"

"Our desk sergeant at work got me a copy. I was going to try to read it tonight. I'm expecting to hear a report from the medical examiner tomorrow."

"You need to sleep, honey," Melissa urged. "You won't be able to concentrate tomorrow if you don't rest."

"I agree," Hadji added. "You look very tired."

It was true—I was completely exhausted—and yet at the same time I didn't have the drive to find somewhere quiet to lie down. We talked about other things for a little while before I finally couldn't resist the urge to lie down anymore. I paid for everyone's meal and beverages; Melissa drove us home while Hadji drove to the Quest home.

At the house, I settled into my chair in the living room with a glass of Talisker Scotch whiskey. Liquor helped calm my nerves and provide focus in moderation when needed; other times, when combined with my medication, allowed me to fall asleep faster than with medication alone. Melissa checked on me one last time before returning to her professional duties of grading assignments. We shared a gentle kiss and hug before she returned to her home office. I reached over onto the end table beside the couch and picked up a small photograph in its frame from underneath the lamp.

Jessie was vibrant in the portrait with a bright smile and glow in her eyes of emerald passion. It was a photograph session the family did before she was due at Parris Island, South Carolina, for boot camp. I thought about what she told me earlier that afternoon, about still loving me, and poured another glass with the picture resting in my lap. I looked up at the clock on the wall: it was almost eleven. I drank more whiskey and stopped trying to fight the memories.

It wasn't long before the weight of my burden overtook my consciousness. I put the picture back on the end table along with the bottle and now-empty shot glass. I got as comfortable as I could in the chair and fell asleep. It seemed like the darkness only lasted momentarily as dreams began to take hold.


	22. Twenty-One

Jessie breathed heavy and moaned loudly underneath me as we made love. With each whisper of my name, each intimate embrace of our mouths, everything else in the world seemed irrelevant. We were in my old room at Dad's house; why my brain decided to pick that location remains a mystery. The headboard of the bed frame knocked gently against the wall as the box mattress springs gave a gentle, rhythmic squeak with each cycle. Jessie held onto my neck and kissed me hard, saying that she was about to orgasm. I felt the urge as well so I cranked up the speed. After we both climaxed, I gently lowered myself into her sweaty red hair and kissed her neck gently before rolling onto my back. She placed her arm across my bare chest while I wrapped mine around her shoulders, holding her close.

Trying to catch her breath, she said, "You're always so good at that."

"Well, I try," I replied, smiling sheepishly. "I love making love to you."

We kissed each other once more. Jessie rested her head on my shoulder. There was peace for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, she said, "I really am sorry for what happened, Jonny."

I gave her a comforting squeeze and said, "I know. It's in the past now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

She was quiet.

"Then why don't you trust anyone?" Jessie asked. "I mean, you spent the first year with Melissa scared to death she was going to wake up one day and decide that she couldn't handle your… problems."

A good lucid dreamer I was not.

I didn't say anything.

"Jonny?"

"I don't know," I said with a heavy sigh. "It really took me by surprise."

Jessie remained silent. Within an instant I found myself walking down the asphalt pavement towards the original Quest compound. I turned to my right to see my former love walking beside me dressed in a v-cut turquoise shirt and blue jeans. She held herself and kept her gaze pointed towards the ground.

"What are you trying to show me?" I asked.

"You're the key," Jessie said. "Don't you know?"

"Key to what, though?"

"This whole mess you've found yourself in, Jonny. You're not the only one, though, so you're not alone."

I stopped in my tracks and shook my head.

"I don't understand what you're trying to hint at, Jessie," I said, slightly frustrated. "I already know there are others involved."

She stopped as well and turned to face me, saying, "Not like that, sweetie. You are a key just like others. There's not many…"

"How can you be so sure? You're just a projection of my imagination."

"Think back to the night of the shooting."

I slowly lowered myself to the pavement and sat down, saying, "I can't…"

"You can!" Jessie shouted. "You just…"

"Don't."

She sighed and walked over next to me, taking a sitting position identical to mine.

"You've spoken to the man on the phone before; that's why he knew your voice," the redhead explained.

I ran my hand through my hair and countered with, "I don't remember who he is…"

"You will. I suggest looking through the evidence box from that night again."

"What am I looking for?"

Jessie smiled as she looked to the clear blue sky and said, "A profile on Daniel Mullinax… and the little girl."

"What about the girl?" I asked.

"You should talk to her now that she's older: she might be able to offer something you weren't able to get back then or any other time you tried to revisit this case."

I nodded, "Okay… anything else?"

"Just this," Jessie said before leaning over and kissing me passionately on the lips one last time. When we parted, she said, "I miss you."

I looked at her sad emerald eyes and nodded solemnly.

"I miss you, too, Jessie," I said. "I wish I could tell you that in person."

She smiled sadly, saying, "Maybe you can…"

Melissa's voice started to echo in my ears. Jessie looked at me as I started to slip away from her.

"See you next time," she whispered as reality took hold.

I jolted awake to Melissa gently shaking me.

"Are you okay, honey?" she asked. "You were crying in your sleep."

I wiped at the dampness on my face and yawned.

"Yeah… yeah, I'll be fine," I said as I started to get up.

She slipped her arms around me and guided me to the bedroom. I put one arm around her shoulders and rested my head on top of hers.

"Jonny?" she asked.

I looked down.

"No matter what happens," she said. "I love you… please promise me you'll try to make it out of this alive."

I looked into her pleading eyes before kissing her gently on the lips. We embraced tightly in the hallway.

"None of us want to lose you," Melissa continued. "Especially me…"

"I don't want to lose me, either," I said softly as we continued our way to the bedroom.


	23. Twenty-Two

I picked up the phone and answered, "Knox County Sheriff's Department, this is Jonathan."

"Are you sitting down?" said Billy on the other line.

"What've you got?"

"I got off the phone yesterday evening with Barber's next of kin over in California. His sister said he disappeared back in 1994 while visiting the wildlife park at San Pablo Bay. They never recovered a body and there was no evidence of foul play."

"You're shitting me," I sighed. "Does he own the house that we found him in?"

"Afraid not, bud; it's a rental property owned by a real estate magnate in Quebec. The girl's name was on the lease."

I rubbed my eyes. The four hours of sleep I managed to attain wasn't helping matters much. Billy went on to say that all medical licenses registered to Barber were, in fact, legitimate. The practices out west were legal and well respected. It seemed that the deeper I dug, the smellier it became. Nothing unusual appeared about the Hoyle girl other than misdemeanors for soliciting.

"I'll keep looking, Jonny," my friend said. "I'll be coming down to your office Monday to give you a hand. How's Wade doing?"

I took a sip of my coffee and replied with, "I don't know; I haven't received any phone calls so I assume that's a good sign."

"I guess so. Anything you want me to check on in the interim?"

I instructed Billy to research Perry Bostic, the maniac responsible for putting Wade in the hospital before I sent him to Jesus via a twelve-gauge. Billy agreed and we said our goodbyes. I took a few deep breaths before picking up the receiver again and dialing Lori Carpenter, Wade's wife.

On the fourth ring, a sleepy female voice came across the line and said, "…Hello?"

"Hi, Lori," I said sadly.

"Jonny… are you okay?" she asked.

Just like Wade, Lori always looked out for others before herself.

"I'm fine, just singed. How's Wade doing?"

"He's in the ICU. They operated on him for five hours last night."

"How bad is it?" I asked. Inside, I really didn't want to know.

I could hear Lori swallow hard.

"It's… really bad, Jonny," she said almost tearfully. "His arms and head took the worst of it. It burned off his hair—eyebrows, scalp, chest—third degree burns on forty-five percent of his body. He also had a bullet lodged in his collar bone."

"Jesus Christ…"

Lori exhaled hard and said, "I know it's cruel… but I'm glad you shot that motherfucker. I'm glad that he's dead. He can rot in hell for all I care. Aria can't even sleep… she stays by her father's side; she practically lives in the ICU bay with him."

I rubbed my forehead. Knowing that Perry Bostic, irrespective of his state of mind, was now dead brought little comfort to me even though he was trying to kill us.

"They've got him sedated," she continued. "He's going to be in serious pain for a good while and will have to have physical therapy. When he came out he was mumbling your name…"

I didn't say anything.

"Thank you, Jonny, for saving my husband's life; we love you."

"Just doing my job," I said. "If you need me, you can call me here at the office."

As with Billy, we exchanged our goodbyes and disconnected. My e-mail client dinged with the arrival of new messages appearing in my inbox. The one from the medical examiner was the first to grab my attention.

One person had come and claimed both bodies.

Thankfully, the assistant that signed out the corpses had made a mental note of the individual's appearance: tall, bald, dark goatee, and dressed in business casual attire. He was smart enough not to sign his full name, only the initials "S.R." I drank the rest of my coffee and fired off a response marked high priority asking for any security footage of the event.

I looked at my whiteboard where I wrote down information that was currently available. Dr. Earley's name was circled numerous times. I immediately started looking up the University of Maine's faculty directory when there was a knock at the doorframe of the office. Without turning around I said, "Come on in."

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Jessie said quietly as she slowly walked in.

I spun around in my swivel chair with mild surprise. She was wearing a pair of white cotton capris and a black summer top with a v-cut that gave her mild cleavage. I would consider this being "subtle sexy."

"No, no, not at all," I said. "What's up?"

She walked over and pulled up a nearby metal chair used for any "customers" we would have in the office for questioning. Folding her hands in her lap, Jessie fidgeted for a moment.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing today," she said. "To see, for myself, how you were holding up. Hadji said you looked like hell… he wasn't kidding."

I looked down at the floor and gave a small nod in agreement.

Jessie took a deep breath, held it in for a moment, and then asked, "Would it be okay if I tagged along today?"

I looked up at her with surprise. Though there was nothing wrong with the request, it was just unusual to come out of the blue unannounced and ask permission to be a personal shadow, especially given the week I was experiencing so far.

"Yeah, it's fine, Jess," I said. "Though I have to ask… what prompted you?"

"I'm worried," she replied.

Worried about me?

I shook my head, saying, "I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you're thinking."

"I know; it's just that… I just want to spend time with you while I have the chance. When I go back to North Carolina there's no telling when I'll be able to visit again and I wanted to be able to have some time alone so we could talk."

"Okay, just be aware that I'm in the middle of investigation."

"I'm not stupid, Jonny," Jessie said indignantly.

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette, saying, "I didn't say you were. I just want you to understand where my mind is going to be and that I may not be able to focus completely on what you want to talk about, especially if it's about what we were discussing yesterday."

She looked at my smoke as I lit it.

"They let you smoke in here?" she asked.

"Only during times like these," I replied as I took my first puff. "Come here and look at this."

Jessie pulled her chair up next to mine and we continued searching through the online faculty directory until we came across Thomas Earley's profile. His photograph matched the description provided by Aimee Bostic. I picked up the phone and dialed his number. Upon answering, I identified myself and why I was calling.

"Ah, Detective Quest, I was expecting your call," he said. "I imagine you would like to have an interview concerning your case there in Rockland? I've read about it online."

"If it's not too much trouble, Dr. Earley," I said. "Will you be on campus all day today?"

"Yes, of course. Just call me when you arrive and I will give you directions on where we can meet in private."

"Thank you, Dr. Earley," I said. "See you in two hours."

After I hung up I turned back to Jessie. I looked down at her footwear: she was wearing her New Balance sneakers again.

"I figured you would go with something more stylish than your running shoes," I commented.

Jessie shrugged, saying, "I figured if someone tried to make a break for it, you could use some extra footwork. I was one of the top runners in the obstacle course in my battalion."

I gave a small smile and extinguished what little was left of my cigarette.

"Just do me a favor," I said.

"What is it?"

"If you do have to run after anybody, try to keep them in a sleeper hold until I get there. I like to take my time."

Jessie simply smiled. I couldn't ask for more.


	24. Twenty-Three

The University of Maine was located in Orono, Maine. Established in 1865, it was the largest university in the state and only institution in said state classified as a research university by the Carnegie Classification of Institutions of Higher Education. The most fascinating aspect I always considered about the university was that it is the only land grant university in the United States located on an island. The traditional dormitories and buildings harken back to the infancy of the country; it struck me as a truly beautiful, delicate campus.

Jessie slid into the passenger seat of the Crown Victoria and buckled her seatbelt. I dropped a file folder stuffed with information about the case I wanted to discuss into the seat between us before plopping down into my spot.

"Get comfortable," I said. "It's going to take a little while to get there."

I cranked the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. After I radioed dispatch and informed them I would be out of the area I turned down the police radio to quiet the chatter. We cruised for about three miles before I broke the silence.

"I dreamed about you again last night," I said.

I could see out of the corner of my eye her head turning to face me. We had discussed my dreams before as I did with my psychiatrist.

Jessie asked, "Was it a good one?"

"It was another one of us fucking."

She blushed and turned back to face the road ahead, saying, "Oh..."

Another mile in silence passed.

"What did I say this time?" Jessie asked.

"You said I was the key," I replied. "That I wasn't the only one. And you also yelled at me."

I glanced over at her and gave her a small half-smile which was reflected on her face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "What was I yelling about?"

"The first time I ever shot someone. You wanted me to think back to that night; something to do in reference to this 'key' ordeal. Finally, you told me to look up the little girl and check out her father's history. I've got all the information on that in an evidence box back at the office."

Jessie nodded and whispered, "Interesting."

"What?" I asked.

"That you would dream that about me; I mean, normally after we have sex in your dreams we spend time talking about us."

"We did that, too, though I much preferred the fucking part."

Jessie lightly punched me in the arm and called me a jackass. I couldn't help but smile a little more.

The silence overtook us again. Twenty minutes passed before a new topic arrived.

"I have to ask, Jess, why go to all this trouble to try and rehash what we've been through now?" I asked. "It's barely been twenty-four hours since we last spoke about bringing this up. Is something bothering you?"

Jessie was quiet for a moment.

"I have a question," she finally said. "And since the events that transpired Monday, I'm worried that you might die. I don't want that to happen—I _can't_ have that happen—but even if I can't stop it, I have to know, and tell you things that I've carried with me for the past ten years."

"I told you before, Jessie, I'm _not_ going to die."

"But you don't know that, Jonny!" she exclaimed. "You said the same thing back then!"

I gripped the steering wheel hard. The image of darkness clouded my memory as the sounds of an electrocardiogram monitor beeped in unison with a respirator filled my ears.

I lost Jessie's voice as it all came back to me.

It started one afternoon after school. I developed a serious headache and relentless nausea. After vomiting my guts out for ten minutes straight and checking my temperature, my father sent me to bed. We both considered it was the flu as others had been sick recently as well. As the days passed, I began to feel confusion and aloofness. My headaches could be suppressed with acetaminophen but the nausea persisted. New symptoms were introduced including sensitivity to light and stiffness in the neck. When I collapsed in the kitchen on the fifth day I was rushed to Pen Bay Medical Center in Rockport.

Initial reports indicated severe dehydration from the nausea could've been the culprit for the stiffness and wary mental state, but my fever seemed unresponsive to normal over the counter medications. Even with intravenous fluids introduced I was still going in and out of consciousness. After being admitted to the hospital, my case was assigned to a new doctor, an internist, who would later become a close friend: Dr. Justin Corbin, M.D. Samples of blood were taken and checked in the lab, all of which took almost two hours. It was after the results were reviewed that I was rolled onto my side and my hospital gown pushed up at the lower part of my back. An extremely painful, burning sensation began to take over my entire lower backside: I was having a spinal tap.

Mere seconds after the needle was removed, my respiratory system stopped responding. I was told that while Race led Hadji and Jessie out of the room Justin immediately began performing CPR while my father watched in horror from the corner of the ICU bay where I was located. A tube was shoved down my trachea—tracheal intubation, they called it—and air was manually forced into my lungs by way of a large bladder. My heart was given an electrical shock a total of three times to restart it.

After an emergency MRI and review of the lumbar puncture results, I was diagnosed with fungal meningitis, a rare disease caused by a Cryptococcus fungi infection. Meningitis is an acute inflammation of the protective membranes covering the brain and spinal cord—the meninges—and is known to be potentially fatal. The cause of my collapse was found to be increased swelling of the brain tissue which, in turn, was first on the "to-do" list on my treatment. Another serious complication that could've reared its ugly head would've been gangrene; thankfully, it was captured just in time. I was in a coma for three months as powerful antibodies were pumped into my system in an effort to give my immune system time to reboot. In a sick twist of fate, I contracted Legionnaires' disease due to my weakened state.

Throughout the ordeal, when I could manage consciousness, I couldn't open my eyes due to the amount of strength it required. I could barely squeeze someone's hand.

I was hanging on by a thread.

The time I felt strength building was on my seventeenth birthday at four in the morning. I remembered looking at the surrounding hospital room I was in and its smooth blue walls, soft fluorescent lighting, and numerous "Get Well" cards taped to the door. I was breathing on my own with an oxygen mask attached to my nostrils and was still attached to an EKG monitor. Justin walked through the door with my chart in hand just as I was about to press the call button.

He smiled brightly and said, "Good morning, Jonny."

"Hi," I said softly. "Can I call my dad now?"

I snapped back to reality.

"Are you okay?" Jessie asked.

I nodded.

"When did I say I wasn't going to die… back then?" I asked.

Jessie sighed.

"It was one week after you were admitted," she said. "I was sitting with you, talking, trying to get you to respond. You looked over at me with your eyes closed and mumbled those words. You even promised. I cried and said that you couldn't make a promise you weren't sure you could keep. You told me to trust you and then went back out again."

"And did I?"

"Did you what?"

"Did I die?"

She paused for a second before saying, "No."

"Then what makes you think I'm not going to survive this one?" I asked.

"Jonny, be serious: you've never known for all the adventures we've been through if you would live to see another day."

"But I can at least try," I said. Then I turned to her and added, "And I can at least have some fucking faith."

Jessie turned away and looked out the window. I knew I had struck a nerve and I was damn proud of it. Her affair may have been a mistake, a poor lapse in judgment, or just a pure act of selfishness; I didn't know and I didn't care. It hurt then and it still hurt, more than any punch in the face I ever experienced as a patrol officer from a streetwalker, more than any crowbar across the shoulder blades, and definitely more than knowing that my own father seemed to be harboring some secret from me that concerned my welfare.

"I just needed someone," Jessie said coldly.

I huffed, "So you needed a married woman that _was your own goddamn teacher_?"

"I don't know what I was thinking!"

"Obviously that I would be buried and forgot about."

"Jonathan Blaine Quest, you know that's not true and you fucking know it!"

"Then why, Jessica," I countered. "Why did you do it? You helped wreck a family, you helped ruin a career, and you turned an entire state on its head. Is that why you joined the Marine Corps: to get away from the shit storm you stirred up?"

"Stop it!" Jessie cried.

"Semper fidelis, Jessica Bannon, maybe you can be more faithful to your country than you can to your own proclaimed 'soulmate.'"

She was sobbing now.

"We were just kids, Jonny!" she continued to shriek. "I'm sorry I fucked up! I'm so sorry!"

I didn't say anything as I continued to drive. Jessie cried fervently and began to rock back and forth, holding herself. She started to repeat phrases about how much she hated herself; how she was a "stupid whore" that deserved to be floating face down in the Outer Banks rather than proudly wear the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor insignia; and how she wished she were dead.

After I managed to calm myself down some, I pulled over into a gas station parking lot.

I gently said to her, "Jessie…"

She was crying still but managed to stop rocking.

"You said it was in the past, that the hatchet was buried," she blubbered. "You lied!"

"Jessie, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to get upset."

"No… you have a right to be upset. I don't have a right to be upset; I don't have a right to be crying like a goddamn baby. You should just pull over and blow my fucking brains out right here."

I shook my head, saying, "Stop that, Jessica; I don't ever want to hear you suggest anything like that."

Jessie pulled her knees up to her chest in the seat and rested her head on the window.

"You probably don't love me anymore, either," she said softly.

"Nobody says I don't."

She slowly turned and looked at me.

"There's a part of me that still does love you, Jess," I explained. "There's so much I want to tell you… but I can't."

"Because of Melissa?" she said.

"No, because… because I'm screwed up mentally."

Jessie stared at me silently as tears slowly rolled down her flushed cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Jonny," she finally said. "I really am. It was really wrong of me to do what I did to you. I can't make excuses for my weakness… so I won't. Regardless of what you think, I feel that I'm a horrible person that doesn't deserve anything but misery for what I did while you were sick. I just want you to forgive me."

"I do forgive you, Jessica," I said. "I promise."

Jessie unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted over. We put our arms around each other and shared a tight hug. She buried her face into my shirt collar while I rested my head on hers.

I stroked her vibrant red hair, saying, "It'll be okay."

I didn't know if it would in the end. But, at least for a moment, it was good enough for me.


	25. Twenty-Four

Dr. Earley directed us to a restaurant off of Stillwater Avenue not far from campus near the Stillwater River to meet at. Jessie had managed to calm down and return back to a stable state. Thankfully, she was only wearing her favorite "cool red" lipstick; otherwise, she would have mascara all over my pressed white shirt. We pulled into the restaurant's parking lot and found a suitable space facing the entrance.

"Do you know what he's driving?" Jessie asked.

I retrieved my cellphone from the dash and dropped it into an inner pocket of my black dress coat.

"No," I said. "I don't have enough information on the man to pull his DMV records. I would assume it would be something fancy, though."

Sure enough, five minutes later, a brand new champagne-colored Buick LaCrosse pulled into the parking lot. We watched with great intent as the car pulled into a parking space near the entrance. The driver side door opened and a man matching the description of Thomas Earley emerged, beard and all, dressed in a gray business suit with red and white plaid tie.

Then the passenger door opened.

Jessie gasped and looked at me: "Jonny… is that your father?"

I didn't stay in the car long enough to give her a response. I was immediately out of the car and quickly approaching the pair. When I was within hearing range, my dad turned around, resting on his wooden cane to take pressure off of his hip.

"What are you doing here, Dad?" I asked tersely. As much as I wanted to throw in some swear words for added flavor, I knew that it was imperative that I remain professional in public.

Dad's once dark auburn hair was now silver. His face was tired and worn. Wearing a white polo shirt—similar in design to what Hadji wore the previous night—and black dress pants, it was painfully obvious my father thought enough of this to pull himself away from his duties at Quest Enterprises. Dad gave a sad smile as he said, "Hi, Jonny."

Dr. Earley walked around the back of the car and approached me.

"Detective Quest: I'm Thomas Earley," he said as we shook hands. I looked into his deep brown eyes and expected to feel a chill crawl down my spine; instead, what I felt from him was empathy and a desire to help. He turned to Jessie who walked up beside me, asking, "And who is this lovely young lady?"

"Thom, this is Staff Sergeant Jessica Bannon of the Marines," Dad said as Jessie and Dr. Earley exchanged handshakes. "She's the daughter I've always wanted, so I have her on loan from her father."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Earley," Jessie said after they finished shaking hands.

Dr. Earley gave a small nod, saying, "As to you, my dear; and I am forever indebted to you for serving our country."

He turned to me: "I'm sure you have many questions, Detective Quest. Why don't we go inside and get acquainted?"

We entered the restaurant and were seated by a young hostess in a large corner booth. After ordering our drinks from a middle-aged waitress, Dr. Earley turned to me and said, "Before we begin, I would like to clear up a few things to help correct any presumptions you may have."

"I'm listening," I said.

"First, your father and I have known each other for a long time—not only am I honored to call him a respected colleague, but also as a former professor of psychosomatic anthropology. He came here today by his own volition because of his concern for what is going on."

"Then how did he know I was coming today?" I asked.

Dad accepted his coffee from the waitress, took a sip, and said, "If you weren't coming, Son, I would've asked you to. Or, alternatively, we would've come to you."

The waitress finished laying out our drink orders. After making our selections, she gathered our menus and departed for the kitchen in the back. The restaurant reminded me of a popular country establishment we often frequented when traveling called Shoney's.

"Fair enough, I suppose," I said, taking a gulp of Pepsi. "Next question: just who in the _hell_ are you and what was your relation to Garry Barber and whoever else is tangled up in this bullshit?"

Dr. Earley's gaze lowered to the table as he clasped his hands together in front of him.

"You know my name already, Detective Quest," he said somberly. "Who I am… I'm not sure you're ready for the whole answer as of yet. Let's just say that I've helped your father stay alive in ways that Miss Bannon's father wouldn't be able to. My relationship with Garry was that of a close friend and confidant. Unfortunately, Garry couldn't keep his dick in his pants to save his life…"

Dr. Earley turned to Jessie and apologized for his mannerism. Jessie waved it off and reminded him that crude remarks to phalluses and vaginas was part of the common dialogue heard in the Marine Corps. He turned back to me and continued: "As such, Garry exited this planet in a rather embarrassing fashion. I couldn't get there fast enough to stop it…"

"I'm assuming you saw his body," I said.

Dr. Earley nodded, saying, "Yes, and I tried to open the girl."

"What do you mean 'open?'"

"Since it's a long story, I'll give you the short version: there are people in Maine and throughout the United States—even the whole damn world—that can be controlled via use of sounds, visual cues, phrases, or even frequencies. I'm sure you've heard of the MKULTRA project?"

"Yeah, I know about that. Let me guess: you worked on it?"

Dr. Earley tried not to laugh as he asked, "Do you really think I'm _that_ old? I was only seven years old when the project was even proposed."

"A yes or no would've been suitable," I said firmly.

"My apologies: no, I did not work on MKULTRA. What I've been working on for the past thirty years is privately funded, researched, and 'under the radar,' so to speak."

"Does it have a name?" Jessie asked.

"Not as much as it has a number," Dr. Earley replied. "My role is that of, more or less, a project manager."

"According to one of your volunteers, you're not being a very good one," I mumbled.

"Jonny," Dad said in his fatherly voice. "Thom is trying to help to the best of his abilities; at least give him the benefit of the doubt."

I looked at my father with pure awe and nearly shouted, "Benefit of the doubt?! I've uncovered two dead bodies and made the third one myself when it blew up its goddamn house, and you want me to give this guy the benefit of the doubt so he can treat me like some sort of fucking moron?!"

Jessie put her hand on my arm. I took a few deep breaths and sunk back into the booth.

Dr. Earley looked at me with concern and said, "I'm not going to point out the obvious here, Detective Quest, so I'll be frank: there has been an incident and it has gotten the unwanted attention of someone within my troupe that gets a raging hard-on at the idea of making me look bad. Unfortunately, for all of us, they aren't going to let something as simple as human life stand in the way of what they desire. So far, they've already used you to take out Perry Bostic and… wait, did you say three bodies?"

"Yeah," I said. "Why?"

"Where's Aimee?"

"Somewhere safe until I can nail down what the fuck is going on."

"Thank God," Dr. Earley said with a deep sigh of relief.

"You know, if I were anyone else, I would dismiss all of this as one big conspiracy theory and say that you're full of shit."

"Do you think this is a conspiracy theory? That this is all some sort of elaborate scheme to cover up a double homicide and officer-assisted suicide?"

I looked away and glanced at Jessie. She was staring at me with fear in her eyes. I turned back to Dr. Earley and Dad, saying, "A part of me thinks you are full of shit. Reality, on the other hand, seems to be pointing the other direction."

"How else would you explain it?" Dr. Earley said. "How did you explain your first encounter with Patricia that night?"

I didn't say anything.

"More so, how can you explain entire dossiers on you and your family? It doesn't make any logical sense, does it? And I will admit, to me it does sound farfetched and I'm one of the people running the damn show."

Jessie spoke up, asking, "I have a question… why? If there is an extensive network of individuals that can control particular people, why do they do it in the first place? Is it power?"

Dr. Earley took another sip of his coffee and replied: "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Jessica. You have to understand that the world is a violent and scary place, bursting at the seams with people anxious to do harm to others. At the local level, you control them through the use of laws, law enforcement, and personal safety. At the international level… things get a bit tricky. What if you woke up tomorrow and there was a riot in Rockport? Would the National Guard be deployed against its own citizens? What if the welfare system that the United States implemented shuts off—no more EBT, no more welfare checks—for even a mere twenty-four hours?"

"You don't need to tell me that my vote at the national level doesn't matter: I was already well aware of that," I said. "So you guys masquerade around as a force for good like some sort of cult-inducing Justice League?"

"I never said we were good," Dr. Earley said. "Nor did I say we were evil. We're… balanced."

"Then tell me," I said as I reached into my inner coat pocket. I pulled out a folded up piece of paper and tossed it across the table to Dad and Dr. Earley. "Tell me what this is about."

Dr. Earley looked at me cautiously before looking down at the printout and opening it up. Dad leaned over to look and nearly choked on his coffee. Dr. Earley was stoic.

Dad managed to choke out, "Jonny, where did you find this?"

"Garry's safe room," I said.

Dr. Earley put the printout of my mother with the note "Judith Waterston" attached to it and remained silent for a few moments.

"They want you for some reason," he finally said. "I imagine the computer was missing as well?"

"Yes."

"That book that you found with the girl," he continued. "It's a clue…"

"No shit; it said I was the 'key' to this whole ordeal."

Dad buried his weathered face in his hands and shook his head.

"This is bad, Thom," he said. "This is really, really bad."

"I'll help the best I can, Benton," Dr. Earley said quietly. "I know you want to help Jonathan…"

"You're goddamn right I want to help my son, Thom!" Dad blurted out before slamming both of his fists on the table, rattling our glasses and silverware. A few restaurant patrons looked our way.

Calmer, Dad continued, "I… I do want to help my son… I just don't know how. I didn't know then and I don't know now."

I looked at Jessie once more who placed her hand on top of mine and gave a small squeeze.

"Let's move the dinner to tomorrow night," I said. "We can discuss this… this problem, then."

Dad nodded slightly.

"Jonny," Dr. Earley said. "I want you to know that, regardless of what you think, I will help you the best I can. You should also be aware of an associate of mine that was responsible for moving the family that owns the bookstore there in Rockland."

"Is he the one that went and claimed the bodies of Garry and his escort?" I asked.

"Probably so; his alias is Steve Rude."

"How cute, he's a comic book guy."

"Believe me, Detective Quest," Dr. Earley said. "He's a lot more than that…"


	26. Twenty-Five

"Was your group responsible for Surd being able to control Jessie and the others?" I asked.

I had finished my meal of a double-cheeseburger and onion rings before everyone else had even gotten halfway through their course. I didn't realize how hungry I was.

"In a way," Dr. Earley said. "Jeremiah was donated the technology as sort of a test run. I'm not going to lie and say that it was coincidental that he would use it on you and your family. From what I understood, they were still fine-tuning it. The obvious result showed that there were still some major issues to work out, namely: keep the operator from becoming a vegetable."

Jessie took a small sip of her water and asked, "How is your research carried out?"

"Universities and research facilities, mostly," Dad said. "It's much easier to rely on institutes of learning rather than endure government bureaucracy."

"But why, why go to all this trouble?" I asked. "If you want someone to do something against their will, why does it have to involve blackmail or something like that? Don't tell me there's anything _good_ that ever comes out of this…"

"We do blackmail, Detective; we do what's necessary to achieve the desired outcome. Most of us go to this trouble because we're scientists, first and foremost; we have become disillusioned with the constraints placed upon us by what is deemed 'ethical' and 'unethical.'"

"That's reassuring. You sound like Andrew Ryan from the game _BioShock_."

Dr. Earley smiled a little, saying, "Yes, well… I personally enjoyed the game, I don't know about you. But have you ever stopped and wondered the motivation behind it? Was Ken Levine trying to express himself artistically or was he trying to send a message?"

"So why not build a city under the ocean?" I asked.

"And who is to say that hasn't already been accomplished? Levine wrote through his character Ryan: 'I believe in no God, no invisible man in the sky. But there is something more powerful than each of us, a combination of our efforts, a Great Chain of industry that unites us. But it is only when we struggle in our own interest that the chain pulls society in the right direction. The chain is too powerful and too mysterious for any government to guide. Any man who tells you different either has his hand in your pocket, or a pistol to your neck.' A truly remarkable endeavor; that is, to rise with the shackles placed upon you in order to pull society in the direction in which it needs to go. That is what I feel my group's goal is."

I countered, "But you're utilizing control against a populace who will resist. How the hell does that work in your theory when all you're doing is replacing 'government' with a vast network of guys and girls with PhDs that can make your average citizen rape their neighbor's dog without conscience?"

"But that's not the goal; the goal is to maintain stability on a global scale. In order to accomplish that, there must be boundaries and adjustments made."

I shook my head, saying, "You're a bunch of insane motherfuckers."

"You may think so," Dr. Earley said. "And, perhaps you're right. Then again, when we're able to cure people of PTSD, to recover suppressed memories, to get nothing but the God-honest truth when it's needed most, maybe, just maybe, you'll see things from a different perspective."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card.

"The book you found with the girl," Dr. Earley continued. "Was a Dean Koontz book, correct? It's one of my favorites, actually. In fact, Aimee might've mentioned it to you when you interviewed her. You should read it."

"I've been told," I said. "As you've seen I've been busy trying not to get murdered for the past few days."

"I understand completely."

Dr. Earley reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pen. Flipping over his business card, he jotted down a note before sliding it across the table to me.

"When you're ready to find out more, contact me," he said.

I looked down at the card then back at him.

"You're serious?" I asked.

Dr. Earley nodded.

"I didn't drive two hours out here for a lecture on economic and political ideologies, Dr. Earley."

"Jonny, please," Dad pleaded. "There's so much… just so much…"

"Dad…"

"If I may," Dr. Earley said. "Jonny, you want to find out how your mother is involved in this, correct?"

"Obviously," I said.

"Then you need some time for all of this to make sense. Otherwise, you'll end up like my associate."

I gave him a puzzled look.

"Steve is not exactly a warm person, Detective," Dr. Earley said. "He despises love and emotion, preferring instead to maintain a constant state of apathy. Whenever he has to kill he does it out of agony. He's a tormented man that I tried my damnedest to save, but failed."

"So you made him your personal assistant and closet killer?"

"It's easier to keep him on a leash than to leave him to his own devices."

"Are you suggesting that he was the cause of the incident?"

Dr. Earley shook his head, saying, "Hardly. The incident involved an election that occurred earlier this year. It's a long story and this is hardly the place for it."

He looked at his watch.

"I'm sorry Detective, I'm afraid I have to get back to the campus: I have a department meeting to attend. You have my card; please use it when appropriate," he said.

I slipped the card into my pocket behind my cigarettes.

"And how will I know when it's 'appropriate,' as you say?" I asked.

Dr. Earley removed his wallet and paid for the bill in cash.

"You'll know," he said. "Trust me."

"I don't think I have a choice."

Dr. Earley smiled.

"You do, Detective Quest," he said. "You will always, and I mean _always_ , have a choice."


	27. Twenty-Six

Ten minutes into our drive back to the station, Jessie asked, "Do you believe him?"

I looked over at her before turning my attention back to the highway ahead.

"Somewhat," I said reluctantly. "I don't like how information is getting filtered. I definitely don't like this bullshit of 'not being ready' to accept the truth. I really need to know how deep Dad is involved."

"Yeah," she said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Tell me you're not in on this, too."

"Jonny, be serious."

I gave Jessie a serious stare to show that I was not being cynical.

"I'm not," she said firmly.

I asked, "You sure?"

"What would make you think otherwise?"

"I'm not sure… you haven't exactly tried to kill me or hinder me."

"Nor will I ever," she said. "I love you, Jonny."

I sighed and gave her a slight nod in acknowledgement. The rest of the trip was shared in silence. We made it back to the office at ten minutes after three. Parking the car and making our way to the door, I surveyed the parking lot. Normally, I didn't pay much attention to the coming-and-going of visitors, prisoners, lawyers, and deliveries that we experienced on a daily basis; today, however, one vehicle in particular stuck out like a sore thumb.

A really shiny, pristine Buick occupied a space next to my personal vehicle. I told Jessie to wait just a second as I approached the car. Pete had mentioned that Garry Barber drove a nice Buick but didn't mention a color. The one in front of me was the exact same model that Dr. Earley drove only a dark red color. I looked around to make sure I wasn't being watched by anyone else other than Jessie before making my way over to the passenger side door. I slipped my hand underneath the handle and gave a slight tug: the door opened without much effort. I quickly opened the glove compartment and started shuffling through its items, desperately looking for a registration card and hoping—praying—that this wasn't the car that I thought it was.

I found the registration card. I could feel a lump in my throat as I read Garry Barber's name on the registered owner's name. I briskly walked over to the driver side and looked at the vehicle identification number. Naturally, it matched what was printed on the card. I slipped the registration into my pocket and pulled out my gun. Jessie's eyes widened.

She began to ask, "Jonny, what are…"

"Go to the Crown Vic, open the glove compartment, and get out the nine-millimeter that's in there," I said, cutting her off. "It should already have a clip in it. Be as quiet as you possibly can."

Without saying a word Jessie did as she was instructed as I got out my cellphone and dialed Billy. He answered on the first ring.

"Billy," I said. "Garry Barber's car is here at the station: someone drove it here and I don't think it was Rachel."

In disbelief, he asked, "No shit? Where are you?"

"Outside the station; listen, I'm about to go in and see what the fuck is going on. Are any troopers nearby that can provide backup?"

"I'll see what I can do. Be careful, Jonny."

I jogged over to Jessie who was shutting the door on the unmarked cruiser. She had her gun loaded and ready.

"Ready?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Stack up on the door."

We approached the entrance and pulled gently on the front door only to find that it had been locked. I removed my keys and inserted the appropriate one into the lock. Holding my breath as I gave a slow counterclockwise turn, the bolt retracted into place into the steel door. I pulled open the door slowly and peered in. Brittany was lying in the floor facedown next to the counter. On the other side of the lobby towards the locker room and other offices I could see deputies taken out with ease. There were calls for help from the business administration office down the hallway. I motioned for Jessie to follow as we slowly crept across the lobby.

The layout of the building was that of a giant rectangle, much like a warehouse, with a hallway separating one side of offices from the other starting at one side of the lobby and ending on the other. I could hear excited radio chatter emitting from the handhelds and bases. In an effort to keep calm, I had left the radio off on the way back. The doorway to the administration office was closed; on the other side, muffled cries for help could be heard. I placed my hand on the handle and turned, opening the door slowly. Dispatcher Jill McDonald, records processor Brianna Morgan, and administrative assistants Joy Washburn and Brandy Harris were bound together in a circle with their hands behind their backs and ankles duct taped together. Strapped to each woman was a bulletproof vest that had four very large blocks of C4 plastic explosive taped to it with a remote detonator attached to each one.

"Jonny!" Jill screamed. "Get us out of this!"

I slowly walked around the circle of women while Jessie examined the setup of the explosives.

"Can you disarm it?" I asked her.

"I can try," she said. "I've only had a few training classes on this."

"Who did this?" I asked.

"It was one man; slender, wore a t-shirt and jeans. He's some sort of martial arts expert or something like that: he took out Bobby and Ryan. There was a bomb threat reported in various parts of the county, almost simultaneously," Brianna sobbed. "Someone set us up, Jonny!"

"I know, I know," I said, trying to calm her down. "Can you describe what the man looked like? Did he say anything?"

"He has blonde hair like yours and green eyes. Very athletic looking," Jill said. "I heard a gunshot earlier, I don't know if that was him or someone else."

"Where's the old man?"

"He's out responding with the SWAT team."

Jessie looked up from me as she knelt on the floor, saying, "I can try to slowly lift this off of them; I don't think it's motion-activated."

"Do it," I said. "Ladies, do exactly what Jessie tells you to do. She's a Marine and she knows what she's doing."

Joy let out a heavy sigh, saying, "I hope so…"

"I'm going to shut the door and lock it. I'll come back if the building is clear."

Jessie gave me an "OK" hand gesture before returning to her work.

I returned to the hallway, shutting and locking the door behind me. Gun drawn, I proceeded to sweep each room, including the restrooms, until I rounded the corner leading to the detective offices. I could smell cigarette smoke emitting from my office. I pressed myself against the painted concrete wall and walked quietly to the edge of the doorway.

"You can come in, Jonny," a voice said. "He's dead."

I stepped inside with my gun trained on a man sitting in my chair facing the doorway. His head was shaved clean; his eyes were brown and empty. A black goatee formed around his mouth and chin. The man's olive skin tone hinted at a Mediterranean heritage; his tall, muscular stature suggested that if not occupying my chair he would be sending people to the hospital in mixed martial arts tournaments. A dark blue suit and black tie wrapped up his persona into a nice, creepy little package. I looked down at the floor in front of me and noticed a pool of blood that traced back to a body that matched what was described by the office staff.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in my chair, asking "You going to put that thing away first?"

"Give me a reason to."

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a black .44 magnum revolver with a six-inch barrel. He tossed it over onto Wade's desk. I stepped over the body and retrieved it. Once in my possession, I lowered my weapon.

"Now, tell me who you are," I commanded.

The man looked at me with no emotion for a few seconds.

"Steve Rude," he finally said. "I'm the one that's going to keep you alive during this fuck-all mess."


	28. Twenty-Seven

Steve Rude picked up a lit cigarette from a glass ashtray that Wade and I kept hidden in the drawers for late nights and took a long drag from it.

"Care to explain why the whole county is out chasing bombs while the rest of the staff is either wired to blow or in a slight coma?" I asked austerely.

He tapped off the ashes into the ashtray and said, "That body you stepped over was originally going to be in my spot. He was going to tell you that you had two options: come with him or watch your coworkers be scattered six ways from Sunday. Obviously, there's been a change of plans…"

"And how do I know that he's not Steve Rude and you're the one responsible for what's out there?"

"Because he's dead, Jonny," Steve said flatly. "You should at least be thankful that I at least dismantled the detonator."

He tossed me the remnants of a remote control detonation device. The printed circuit board and plastic housing fell at my feet along with the two batteries that powered it.

"Those bricks should be somewhat harmless now."

I looked at him for a moment before reaching down and rolling over the body. His gelled blonde hair had been dyed as his black roots were showing. Indeed, the perpetrator was very athletic—probably a marathon runner—but would have a hard time navigating anything now that the front half of his face caved in at his left eye socket and out the back of his skull. A look of surprise was frozen in time on what facial features survived the gun blast to the face. Looking over his simple white and blue Adidas shirt and jeans, I approximated his age to be close to that of mine. I slowly pushed his body out of the way and pulled Wade's chair over in order to take a seat.

I punched the intercom button on the phone and selected the room where Jessie and the office staff were situated in.

"Jessie?" I asked through the microphone.

The sound of footsteps emitted from the speaker before her voice responded: "Yeah?"

"The detonator's been destroyed; the C4 can be taken off gently."

"Tell her to gather everyone into the meeting room," Steve said.

I relayed the request, saying, "Have everyone go to the meeting room. It's adjacent to the kitchen in the lobby."

I disconnected from the call and turned back to Steve.

"Why was everyone called away from the office? What the hell is going on?" I asked.

Steve finished his cigarette and said, "There is no bomb threat, Jonny. It was a ruse to get management and the key individuals out of the office."

He looked at me for a few moments before commenting, "You sounded older on the phone."

The voice in my head uttered "Oh, shit…" as realization slipped its cold fingers around the sweat on the back of my neck. Steve must've picked up on my uneasiness as he cracked a small half-smile, asking, "You were expecting someone different?"

"No," I said cautiously. "I honestly didn't know what to expect. Dr. Earley said you were one of his subordinates yet from the way you talked you have your own agenda."

"Subordinate? Christ, kid, do I look _that_ incompetent?"

"So what exactly is your relationship with Earley, then?"

"Think of me as an independent contractor," Steve replied, cracking his bare knuckles. "Thom has done a lot for me, but I'm afraid that he's in over his head on this one."

"You had said he fucked up. Care to explain?"

He motioned towards the door and said, "In the briefing room. You need to be aware of a few things, first."

We got up and started to exit the office. Before I stepped into the hallway, Steve tapped me on the shoulder.

"If you don't mind, I would like to have my gun back," he said.

I gave him a narrow look.

"Your 1911 was a hand-me-down from your grandfather. My gun was removed from the hands of its owner after I took a fire axe and lodged it in the top of his skull."

I looked down at my gun in its holster then back at Steve. His knowledge of me was downright scary, almost as if he had a "Jonny Quest for Dummies" book lying around. I handed the heavy forged steel killing apparatus back to its owner. Steve opened his jacket and slid it back into its holster.

"Thank you," he said.

I slowly turned away and lead the way to the conference area. Looking outside through the lobby windows, I could see a familiar face of a Trooper I knew. Trooper Barry Snider was a twelve-year veteran with the Maine State Police; I had the pleasure of working a couple of traffic accidents with his guidance when I was a rookie. With his firearm drawn low, he quickly approached the front door. I jogged over to the door and poked my head out.

"Hi, Barry," I said. "I'm sorry to drag you out here."

He slowly put his gun back in its holster. Looking through the window, he asked, "You sure, Jonny? I mean, I heard about what happened and all. Half of your office is being called out on suspicious bomb activity that is turning out to be decoys."

"Yeah, it's fine… I didn't know Smoak had the car towed here for me to examine it for clues. I haven't seen anything suspicious around here as of yet. Would you mind being close by in the area just in case?"

Barry's blue uniform was stained with sweat. Apparently, whoever was calling in these explosives had a penchant for scavenger hunts.

"I will, Jonny; just hit me up if you need me," he said before shaking my hand.

I gave a firm grip and replied, "Thanks, Barry."

He returned to his light blue patrol car and exited the parking lot. Once out of sight, I turned around to see the office staff being led by Jessie towards the conference room. Steve was busy tending to the unconscious deputies.

"They need to go to the hospital and get checked out," he said. "Some of them might have a concussion, if not fractures."

"Want me to call a transport?" I asked.

"I'll get it."

He reached over the front counter and picked up the phone. After dialing, he waited for a few seconds before responding to the voice on the other end.

"Yeah," he said. "Sheriff's office; send a van. They need to be checked out. No… no, he's okay. Better bring janitorial as well: it's a goddamned mess. I know, I know… yeah, I'm about to debrief them now. Okay, thanks."

Turning back to me, Steve said, "I've got some people on the way that will take care of things here."

"What about when the others get back?" I asked.

He shook his head, saying, "You really don't know, do you kid?"

"Isn't that why you're here?"

Steve let out an exhausted sigh.

"Yes and no. Come into the conference room: we need to have a 'come to Jesus' meeting."

I swallowed hard and followed the bald man to be debriefed.


	29. Twenty-Eight

Steve reached into his inner coat pocket and put on a pair of sunglasses as we entered the conference room.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked in a low whisper.

He turned to me and said, "I have glaucoma, if you must know; it makes me sensitive to light."

We walked into the room. The conference room was a wide square room with a podium up front. Six desks divided into two vertical rows could hold up to twelve deputies comfortably. During press conferences, reporters would crowd themselves in while all law enforcement personnel sat on steel folding chairs behind the podium and in front of the wall-mounted whiteboard.

Jessie was sitting on the front row desk next to an empty seat. Steve walked up the aisle created between the desks and circled the podium. I walked up and took the empty chair, pulling out and lighting a cigarette to help calm my nerves.

"Where the fuck have you been, Rude?" Joy asked angrily.

Steve was not riled in the least as he said flatly, "Nice to see you too, Joy. Before any other of you gets your panties in a wad, you need to be aware of what's going on."

Another one of the office ladies protested: "We already know what's going on! The project's fucked!"

"No, it's not," Steve said firmly. "Now shut up and listen so we can all live to see another day. Back in January a terminal tried to eliminate a representative. As you all are aware, not only was this _not_ authorized by the committee, it also failed miserably. At the time, we did not know who activated the terminal."

"So you're suggesting you have an idea now of who was responsible?" asked Brianna.

"We think so. Anyway, this major malfunction diverted our resources as we tried to keep the project on track, which caused us to drop the ball in Egypt. We rerouted to the caliphate option which should come to fruition in about two-to-three years. We're also killing off the OSB persona through the use of the Navy—it's just taking too many resources and too much manpower to try and keep that shit up—so with that out of the way, we were led to believe that we could start prepping for the G8 dog and pony show."

"So what happened?"

Steve pointed at me, saying, "His mother is what happened."

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me as all eyes in the room—including Jessie's—turned to face me.

Before I could interject, Steve continued: "The Quest woman—or someone posing as her—resumed active duty two years ago. I am not sure if it was by her own accord or not. Whatever the case, she contacted Earley who coordinated a meeting with Barber. Barber's job was to maintain tabs on the boy, especially since he discovered the defect of the scopolamine series terminals, while we tried to confirm whether or not this was indeed the real deal."

"I'm sorry," I said, finally unable to hold back any longer. "Are you saying that Mom… is alive?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Jonny: we aren't sure. The reason you found her picture in Barber's house was that he needed to know what she looked like just in case she tried to make contact with you."

"I have a question," Jessie said, raising her hand.

Steve looked over at her silently.

"Is the whole town in on this or something? I mean, it seems that every person we bump into knows something about what's going on. What's the deal with this office, anyway?" she asked.

Steve leaned back on his heels as he responded, "Not the whole county, at least… I don't think. You have to understand that a lot of these people were planted here many years ago. There's something about this part of the country that the higher ups have keen interest in and I highly doubt smuggling Canadian maple syrup is high on the list. The way we're set up is like the NFL: there are different owners vying for different players in an effort to try and map out plays to score over the other. Does that make sense?"

"In a way, I suppose it does. Now, what about this office in particular? Do they maintain strategic law enforcement installments as well?"

"This office is a strategic point, yes. Again, this is going back to something around here being of very high importance. The state police may or may not be involved; I'm not sure."

"I have one last question," Jessie said.

"What is it?"

"I imagine you're the infamous 'Steve Rude' considering what that lady over there said," she started, motioning towards Joy. "But… who exactly _are_ you? And what is your organization about?"

Steve was silent. I could tell he was contemplating something.

"I'm someone you don't want to know," he finally said. "And my organization is about control. Control through media, technology, science… it's like a grandiose version of The Sims, only with multiplayer and people die a lot."

"Well, you look like someone I know… someone I haven't seen in a long time…"

"I've been told I look like Dwayne Johnson."

"That's not what I had in mind," Jessie said.

Steve waved it off, saying, "Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. I look like a lot of people; I look like nobody. What matters now is that we get the station back in working order. The _last_ thing I need is to have regulars getting curious as to what's going on. I've already had an earful of bullshit from Thomas about the news coverage this incident has garnered."

"Is it okay that I have someone from the state coming down Monday?" I asked.

"Depends," he said. "Who is it?"

"Billy Beam."

Steve expressed a soft half-smile.

He gave an approving nod, saying, "Okay then. I haven't seen Billy in a long time; he'll prove useful."

With no more questions, the bald man looked upon the room.

"Everyone return to your posts. The janitorial staff will be here shortly. I'm sure there's somebody having an emergency somewhere. Jonny, you and Miss Bannon stay," he commanded.

Jessie didn't find it odd that the stranger knew her name. At the time, I attributed it to the dossiers that Barber had kept on us. I would find out later that notion simply wasn't the case.

After the other staff members left the conference room and shut the door, Steve pulled up a chair and sat down across from Jessie and me.

"I need to know what your next move is going to be," he said.

I shrugged, saying, "I was going to dig through the evidence box of what was cleaned out of Barber's house. I was also going to see the little girl and read up on her father."

"Fair enough, though there is something I need to ask you, and it's going to be a very uncomfortable question."

I looked at Steve. Maybe it wasn't glaucoma that was causing him to hide his eyes; maybe it was shame.

"Was your mother cremated?" he finally asked.

I thought for a minute. The funeral was back in 1990…

"No," I said confidently.

I knew what was coming next.

"Would you have any qualms if we…"

Steve stopped short to cough some. It was like he was desperately trying to work up the courage to ask me permission to dig up my mother from her final resting spot. It felt rather strange given that this man didn't seem to have any qualms about blasting holes in people's heads.

I gave a slight nod.

"You want to see if she's really dead, right?" I asked. "Why are you suddenly so empathetic towards me?"

"I may be an asshole, kid, and with questionable reasons. That doesn't mean I don't have a heart."

"I'm touched."

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll get over it quickly, probably after what I'm about to tell you."

"What is it?"

"We need to get permission from the owner of the plot in order to exhume your mother."

Jessie gasped, "Oh, no…"

"Thom called me while you were en route back and said you are having dinner tomorrow night. I suggest you obtain the necessary paperwork then," Steve said.

I looked down at the floor. I felt like throwing up.

"What if Dad objects?" I asked.

Steve stood up, reached across the table, and placed his hands firmly on my shoulders. I looked up into his shades and the firmness of his gaze behind them.

"If you have to put a gun to his head, then goddammit you do it," he said in a deep, dark tone that would make even Batman piss himself.

"And if that doesn't work?"

Steve let go and stood upright.

"Then you put it to your own head."


	30. Twenty-Nine

I set the evidence box down onto the table in front of Steve and Jessie. Pulling off the cardboard lid, I rummaged through its contents before I found what I was searching for.

"Here's the report file," I said. "I'll have to check with DSS to see where the girl is. Last I checked, her father's younger brother and his wife adopted her not long after she was placed in the care of her grandparents."

"How long will that take?" Steve asked.

I pulled up my sleeve and looked at my wristwatch.

"It's almost four o'clock now. They probably won't be able to give me anything until tomorrow."

Steve let out slightly exasperated sigh. I asked him, "What is it? Don't you have a better way of finding out?"

"Yes, but it's not worth the risk," he said. "If I start poking around it'll cause some unwanted attention—which we already have enough of—and I'm not sure if the data is reliable given the nature of this situation. Go ahead and call social services and make your request; I'm going to examine the treasure trove you have here."

"I was under the impression you already knew everything about Jonny and what happened?" Jessie questioned.

Steve pulled up a chair before saying, "Sort of… I got the highlights of what happened and only a brief profile of what he looked like and his mannerisms. That, and what little blurbs I could pick up from all the years of reading about you and your wild-ass adventures."

I gave a slight smile in reflection of the adventures and predicaments my family often found themselves in. I motioned to Jessie to follow me back to the office. Sheriff Smoak and the other deputies were returning just as Steve's clean-up crew arrived. Smoak took one look at me and immediately walked over.

"Jonny, are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine, Sheriff," I said. "Wish you would've told me what was going on before it amounted to this."

The old man's already sad face only drew more depressed.

"I'm sorry, Jonny… I never liked this from the first day thirty-two years ago when they tapped me for this."

"Then why didn't you leave, Smoak?"

"That's just it, Son," he said. "You don't walk out on these people: you're carried out in a body bag."

"Wonderful," I murmured.

The sheriff continued, "I don't know how you feel and I'm not going to pretend how. What I can tell you is that you do have people that are on your side. I can't tell you who those people are or where to find them. What I can tell you is that your dad has had to make some devastating choices over the years that he's not proud of. Benton will expect you to be upset with him—and rightfully so—but what I want you to know most Jonny is that this is a game that has been played long before you or I ever existed, something that goes all the way back to when this country was founded and probably before that."

"And what's going to stop me from handing in my badge and gun, getting in a car, and driving until I can't go any further?"

"I can't stop you from doing what you think is right. All I can do is tell you what I think is futile. You'd have better luck riding away from an atomic bomb explosion on a tricycle than escaping these people."

Smoak stopped and peered around me into the conference room.

He whispered, "Son of a bitch…"

Curious, I asked, "Now what?"

"If Earley had to send him, then something is definitely wrong. Do whatever he tells you to do, Jonny."

I turned around and looked at Steve while he flipped through papers and examined various items from the box.

Facing the sheriff once more, I gave a discerning look.

Sheriff Smoak shifted his weight and said, "Remember when I said you don't walk out on these people? That man in there didn't just walk: he blasted."

"You know him?" I asked.

"Let's just say that you're not the only one that's ever been tangled up with these assholes. All these conspiracy theorists, the Illuminati, whatever bullshit is popular on YouTube these days… this group is the real deal, Son. There's a reason why us common folk don't get to see what goes on inside our government backrooms. What they show on C-SPAN is smoke and goddamn mirrors."

Sheriff Smoak reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded up sheet of paper. He handed it to me and said, "Listen, if for some reason I disappear or have an accident, this will provide you with what I know."

He placed his hand on top of mine and gave me a firm grip. Upon releasing, he turned and slowly walked back to his office as I slipped the paper into my pocket. Men and women dressed in paramedic uniforms busily loaded up the injured deputies while three individuals dressed in bright yellow biohazard suits wheeled a gurney towards my office. I walked over behind the front counter and took a seat. I dialed my contact at the department of social services and left a voicemail explaining what I needed. After hanging up, I looked up to see Steve standing on the other side of the counter.

"Why don't you two call it a day?" he asked. "I'm going to need to spend the evening going over this stuff and need to have a chat with your boss."

Confused, I asked him, "Where are you staying?"

"Barber's house, seeing as it just opened up on the market."

"How do I get in touch with you?"

Steve reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a business card, and slid it across the counter. I picked it up and looked at it: it was one of Dr. Earley's cards. I flipped it over and saw that a phone number had been scribbled on it.

"If you have an emergency," he said. "Dial 911."

"No shit."

"It's not going to do what you think it's going to do."

I leaned back in my chair, asking, "Oh?"

"I had one of my contacts adjust your routing table for your account. It will immediately cut into any call that I may be involved in as well as send me your GPS coordinates."

"Clever," Jessie commented.

"Now take your girlfriend home and get some rest. You're going to have a long day tomorrow."

"She's not my girlfriend," I said flatly.

Jessie remained silent and looked away.

Steve turned towards the hallway. As he walked towards the Sheriff's office, I could hear him mutter, "You keep telling yourself that, kid."


	31. Thirty

Jessie had Hadji drop her off that morning at my office, thereby eliminating the need for an extra vehicle. We climbed into my Mustang.

"What do you want me to do with this?" she asked, showing me the handgun from the Crown Victoria she had fetched earlier.

"Hang onto it," I said. "And don't lose it—we're already over budget in the munitions department."

Jessie rolled her eyes, uttering "Very funny."

She dropped the gun into the pocket located on the bottom of the door's interior. We pulled out of the parking lot and began the journey back to my house. I mused over something Dr. Earley had said at breakfast, the "election" comment he had made.

"What is it?"

Jessie's question snapped me back to reality. I told her what I was mulling over.

"What baffles me," I said. "Is what Steve said, you know? How it's built like the NFL. But they don't have elections, they have draft picks."

"What if it's not the players that are elected, but the owners?"

"Possibly… but then, how does Mom fit into this?"

"Jonny," Jessie said with a mildly imploring tone. "I know you want to believe your mom is alive, but like Steve said, you shouldn't get your hopes up."

"Whether she's dead or alive, Jess, she has something to do with this."

Jessie remained silent. The silence was broken moments after by my cell phone. I looked down at the caller ID and pressed the answer button.

"Hi, honey," I said.

Melissa sounded tired on the other line. "Hi baby," she said. "Are you at work still?"

"No, I'm headed home; Jessie's with me."

"Is everything okay?"

I sighed, "It's a long story…"

"I understand," she said. "Do you two want meatloaf for supper?"

I turned to Jessie and asked, "Meatloaf good with you?"

She nodded.

"Yeah," I said back into the phone. "We'll be home in a little bit."

"Okay sweetheart; I love you."

"I love you, too."

I ended the call and dropped the phone back into an empty cup holder. I glanced over at my passenger who was gazing out the window in silence. I took a deep breath and exhaled. To try and divert attention away from the depression that gripped the car's cabin, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper Sheriff Smoak had given me. I handed it to Jessie and asked, "Can you see what this is?"

She took the paper and opened it up. I could see out of the corner of my eye her expression became puzzled.

"These are GPS coordinates," she said.

"Got a GPS?"

"No, but I have Google Maps. Hang on…"

After a few seconds of loading up the online application and entering the coordinates, Jessie became uneasy.

"Jonny… these coordinates are on Kimball Island."

Kimball Island was a small island off the Isle au Haut surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean and was only accessible by boat. Isle au Haut was inhabited by less than one hundred citizens while Kimball Island was a thick forest island. If Smoak had gone to that much trouble to put something out there for me, then it warranted a search.

"The sheriff said there's something at that location that will answer some questions should anything happen to him," I explained. "Which probably means he's not going to show up for work tomorrow…"

"How can you be so sure?" Jessie asked.

"These people went to the extent to blow up a house and put Wade in a burn unit: I think killing an old law enforcement official is going to be a cakewalk. The question is why they are keeping me alive?"

"They must think your mom is alive, too; that maybe you'll draw her out."

"I thought you said I shouldn't get my hopes up?"

"I said you shouldn't," Jessie said adamantly. "I never said anything about _those_ people."


	32. Thirty-One

I opened the kitchen door and let Jessie in first. We had done a quick sweep of the outside perimeter and peeked under the house to make sure there weren't any surprise visitors waiting. With guns drawn, we swept the house, clearing each room cautiously. After I was satisfied that we were alone, I walked out the front door and across my front lawn to the mailbox.

Just because you're swept up in a global-scale conspiracy theory doesn't mean that life doesn't come to a grinding halt.

I took a deep breath and slowly inserted my key into the secured container where my mail was stored. With a quick turn and pull, the hinged metal door let out a slight squeak as it fell carelessly. I pulled out four envelopes: the power bill, two pieces of junk, and a plain white unmarked piece of mail that simply had "Jonny" written neatly on the front. I looked around before peeled open the mystery envelope and pulled out a sheet of notebook paper.

It was a note from Caitlin Slagle, the daughter of the family who owned the bookstore in town.

 _Jonny,_

 _I don't have much time, but I wanted to let you know we're safe. The Steve Rude guy put us on a plane to Louisiana with new credit cards and other stuff. I don't know what's going on and my parents won't tell me what they were involved in; said it was too dangerous right now. Look at the flash drive I gave you…_

 _Caitlin_

I closed and locked my mailbox before making a beeline for the house. As soon as I crossed the threshold I shut the front door and dead-bolted it. Jessie was sitting at the dining room table.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Follow me," I said.

We walked into my home office. I sat down at my computer and grabbed the flash drive that Caitlin had given me the other day off my mousepad. Gently shoving it into an open port, Windows gave accessed it with ease and allowed me to start exploring. There were two files contained on the drive: one was a video file that was presumably the security footage containing Pam Hoyle's purchase while the other was a small text file labeled with my first name. I immediately opened the text file and was greeted with a single book title: _The Manchurian Candidate_. I handed Jessie the Dean Koontz book and instructed her to start reading.

She began to protest, saying, "Jonny, what's…"

"Please, Jess," I begged her. "I know you can read fast and pick up on things quickly. How long do you think it will take for you to plow through that thing?"

She sighed, "How long is it?"

"About three-hundred pages, I guess."

Jessie thought for a moment before saying, "I'll have it read by tonight if I'm not interrupted. You got somewhere quiet I can read?"

"Use the bedroom," I replied. "It's the quietest part of the house. I'll be in here if you need me. You want something to drink or anything?"

She shook her head before getting up and leaving the room. I quickly checked Wikipedia for an entry on the novel and was given a brief synopsis of the plot: a small town had been brainwashed by chemicals introduced into the drinking water and subliminal advertising to make them more receptive to thought control.

As the book was set in the late 1970s, I could imagine a rather easy infiltration of any local reservoirs or water treatment plants in order to introduce a chemical agent. I leaned back in my chair and thought for a moment before I glanced at a report that was sitting on the edge of my desk. The document was about the recurring burglaries that happened at the local chemical plant.

The chemicals were food-related.

I whispered as a realization washed over me: "Oh, fuck me…"

I picked up the receiver of my desk phone and pulled out the card Steve gave me. I quickly dialed the number on the back and waited anxiously for my supposed "ally" to pick up. On the second ring his deep voice came on the line: "Hang on."

A high-pitched squeal emitted through the phone followed by random dial tones. I held the receiver away from my ear until I could hear his voice asking me to return to the call.

"What the hell was that?" I asked.

"Safety measure," he said. "It's bad enough that the NSA does it, but I've got somebody else working on that. What did you find?"

"How do you know I found something?"

"Just tell me what you found."

"And I should trust you with this because…?"

Steve let out a heavy sigh, saying, "You called me, remember? Obviously you trusted your instincts enough to know that I'm not your enemy."

"Nor my friend," I added.

"Correct. Now, will you stop yanking my dick and tell me what is it you want to discuss?"

"Over the past few months there've been various substances walking out from some of the local chemical plants. No forced entry, nothing unusual on after-hours surveillance; just entire pallets of food-grade chemicals up and disappearing. Another plant also had the same problem, same scenario: nothing out of the ordinary, just phantom pallets. The difference was these weren't preservatives or anything that would be used in food production as it doesn't deal in that market."

"What were they?" Steve asked.

I examined the report and listed off the chemicals taken from the DuPont plant.

Steve was silent.

Finally, he spoke: "You and I are going to take a little trip to those sites tomorrow before seeing the girl. If someone's reporting them missing, that person—or group—is going to either be moved or be involved in a workplace accident."

"Terrific," I grumbled.

"Have you started reading the book?"

"I've got Jessie working on it. I looked up the synopsis online."

"I did to," Steve said. "There must be something specific inside the story we need to look for."

I nodded, saying, "There's something else."

"What is it?"

"Caitlin from the bookstore gave me a USB drive the other day with surveillance footage of the day the book was sold. There was a text file on here that only had one thing in it: _The Manchurian Candidate_. I guess you already know that it's another great thriller about mind control."

"It's also a great case of plagiarism."

"What's plagiarized?"

" _The Manchurian Candidate_ ; back in 1998, some software developer noticed that some of the lengthy portions of the book were lifted from an earlier book by Robert Graves called _I, Claudius_."

"Oh, for God's sake, don't tell me that this is going to spiral out of control…"

Steve coughed and changed his tone to be more sympathetic.

"I don't know, Jonny," he said. "I don't remember what _I, Claudius_ was about since I read it thirty years ago. The only reason I know it was plagiarized was because of something I read in a newspaper back in 2003 when I was living in California. To be on the safe side, I'll see if I can dig up a copy."

"Or you could just search the Internet…" I said.

He became a little incensed: "Or I could just be a lazy asshole and search the Internet. Yeah, good job Dick Tracy. You barely scratch the surface and you call it case closed, huh?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Clean, but we don't exactly have time to start a fucking book club."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't excuse you from actually examining what you have. I'll be at your house tomorrow at eight on the dot. Be awake and be ready, understood?"

"Yep," I said flatly.

Steve disconnected the call. I dropped the receiver back onto its cradle. I looked at the clock on my computer: Aimee Bostic would be arriving in Florida within the next few hours if there weren't many stops along the way. Flying would've been faster but riskier. Driving by herself with a rental car was also risky as it could allow for followers. The bus had transfers and different people which allowed her to blend in better with the crowd.

Taking a deep breath and focusing, I opened the surveillance video.

My eyes widened.

"What… in the hell…?"


	33. Thirty-Two

It had been four days since the shooting.

I sat in the office of the chief of Rockport Police facing an inquisition board of three senior officers. Police chief Jerry Sedgwick moderated the discussion while officer Veronica Strait recorded minutes; Billy, fulfilling his role as both witness and my representative, sat diagonally to me while Knox County prosecutor Travis White was seated next to the board.

It was standard operating procedure in our small department to hold an inquiry in any officer-involved shooting. This was my first time facing the board.

"This inquiry," Chief Sedgwick started. "Dated the twenty-seventh of May, 2006, has been called in response to an incident in which an officer discharged his weapon in the line of duty. It is based on the officer's report that he feared for his life and for the life of surrounding civilians, thereby alluding to a justifiable homicide. This inquisition is to aid the county prosecutor in the decision on whether charges should be filed as well as determine if any disciplinary action should be taken. In the event that disciplinary action should be taken, regardless of whether county charges are filed, a disciplinary hearing will be held. All communication in this room is considered confidential and will be treated as such. Are there any questions before we begin?"

Everyone shook their head.

"Very well, then. Who is the officer in question?"

"Officer Jonathan Blaine Quest," Billy said. "One and a half years of service with Rockport Police."

"Sergeant Wilkes, Lieutenant Burgdorf, and Sergeant DeSota: do any of you have any questions for Officer Quest before we examine the scenario?"

Sergeant DeSota spoke up. She was the department's canine handler. A tall, stout woman, DeSota had earned a reputation as one you didn't want to have to meet when she was called out to settle drunken disputes in the early hours of the morning. Even more so when her four-legged partner, Tanya, was turned loose. With bright coppery hair tied into a tight pony-tail and sharp green eyes, DeSota was as beautiful as she was tough.

"Jonny," she said gently. "How've you been holding up?"

I shook my head.

Billy put his hand on my shoulder to try and calm me down.

"It's been rough, Erica," he said to her. "You don't want to know what I had to go through just to get him down here. His dad's waiting in the lobby with Hadji."

"Jonny, I want you to know that your dedication to your duty has not gone unnoticed, nor has your compassion as a human being," the chief said. "The town of Rockport considers you an integral part of our little corner of the world and we want you to know that we are ready to help in any way that we can."

Silence filled the room.

Finally, the chief announced that the report would be read aloud before my car's dashboard camera video and body camera footage would be reviewed.

It was pure anguish.

I buried my face in my hands and cried during each segment of review: the report reading, the videos, and the speculation… all of it. Finally, after four agonizing hours, I was released from the inquiry so that a decision could be made. Billy assured me that I had nothing to worry about and that I was justified in my shooting. I used the wall as a crutch as I made my way to the restroom. I drowned my face in cold water at the sink before slipping to the floor and scooting up against the wall.

The mere thought of extinguishing a life, even in self-defense, was an extremely foreign concept to me, as it would be to anyone. While at the academy, they never really touched on what it felt like. Numerous stories said some officers were really shaken up, some were able to get a grip, and then there were cases like me. I had no idea where in the spectrum I was going to lie until it was too late.

But even in the turmoil of emotion, the thought of giving up my newfound career in law enforcement never left me.

I started seeing Dr. Hull and a separate psychiatrist. Dr. Hull helped me work through my demons through therapy while my shrink helped me quell them with pills. I helped myself by drinking more.

I had picked up smoking at the age of seventeen and by nineteen had downed my first taste of hard liquor. After Jessie taught me I couldn't trust anyone that with a pulse, parts of me changed. I became more reserved, more suspicious. I'm not sure if it was sour grapes or just maturing; whatever the case, who I was as a kid was no more.

After the shooting, I changed again. Growing up, I had an inane fear of being killed by my—or one of my father's—enemies. Now, I accepted it as a real possibility; however, if someone wanted me dead, they were going to have to work extra hard at it. Melissa was a little baffled by my seemingly passive nature concerning the dangers of my work or, more importantly, my past. She would always ask me, "How can you be so calm when you know there are people out there that still want you and your family dead?"

And I would always respond, "Fear can consume you. When it does, you fuck things up. That's how you end up dead."

I think she breathed a deep sigh of relief when I became a detective with the sheriff's department. But now that I was being targeted, if not outright used, by unknown people with unknown amounts of influence and me having little-to-nothing to go on, fear was starting to creep up the back of my neck again. I could see the worry in Melissa's eyes starting to build up.

On the outside, she seemed calm, cool, and collected, like everything was under control and that this was just another routine event that happens that's unfortunate, like a colonoscopy or taxes.

On the inside, she was probably tearing herself apart.

I wasn't going to let anything happen to Melissa. I would die first before anything happened to her.

As my mind drifted back from the past and onto the task at hand, I made a passing thought about Jessie and her relative, eerily calm demeanor. What if she was the same way as my fiancée? What if what she displayed on the outside was nothing more than a ruse to give me the impression that she had everything under control even as everything crumbled around her?

Maybe it was her she was trying to fool instead of me.

I shook my head.

I was getting too off track.

Looking at the man on the screen with a chiseled face and short brown hair, I rubbed my eyes to make sure that it wasn't just my exhaustion getting the best of me.

"Jessie!" I called. "You better come see this!"

I heard the movement of bedsprings and then the soft padded thumping of footsteps as Jessie walked in the room. She leaned over my chair and uttered, "Holy shit… is that?"

I picked up the phone and dialed Steve.

"Yes, cupcake?" he asked, picking up almost immediately.

"Riddle me this," I said. "What do you know about a recurring pain-in-the-ass baddie named 'Lorenzo'?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"What?"

I heard a ruckus on the line followed by Lorenzo's muffled voice complaining about Steve's very large foot crushing his windpipe.

"Quest!" Lorenzo managed to scream. "He's a maniac, you don't know…!"

Steve's voice came back on the line.

"You would think this stupid piece of shit would know better than to stay at a bed and breakfast that serves homemade pie," he said. "I fucking love homemade pie.

"Will he at least be able to talk in complete sentences?" I asked.

"Let's see…"

I heard Lorenzo get punched in the face one hard time, presumably knocking him unconscious.

"…I believe so. Remember: eight o'clock sharp."

"I remember."

Steve gave a satisfied "Humph" before disconnecting the call.

Jessie asked, "What did he say?"

"That he 'fucking loves homemade pie.'"


	34. Thirty-Three

"What happened today?" Melissa asked as we ate dinner.

I explained our visit with Dr. Earley and Dad followed by our introduction to Steve Rude and my "appointment" with him tomorrow morning.

"Can they be trusted?"

I asked, "If you're referring to Steve himself, I think so. If you're referring to Dr. Earley, Dad, and Steve as a group, the jury is still out."

Melissa buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry honey," she said with a heavy sigh. "This is getting a bit too much too soon. I mean, you're probably used to this…"

I put my hand on her wrist, saying, "No, sweetheart, hardly: this is different. This… I don't know what the fuck this is, to be honest, but I hate it."

Melissa gave a small nod and wiped her eyes. She looked over to Jessie who was quietly eating and asked, "How are you handling it?"

Jessie stopped and put her fork down.

She shook her head: "I… I don't know. In the Middle East, you worry about things like IEDs, surprise ambushes, and suicide bombers. You can't even trust the local police because the insurgents have them infiltrated as well. It's a foreign place and you don't know anybody or anything except your teammates and what little familiarity you gain from patrolling the area. Here we are in our own country, with people we know and, supposedly, trust, being told that everything is one big façade. I know most things aren't what they seem but, Jesus… you don't think about it until you're in over your head."

Jessie looked over at me.

"Which is what we're supposed to be accustomed to," she finished.

"I guess you're right," I said softly.

We finished supper in silence. Melissa joined Jessie in reading the rest of the book while I loaded the dishwasher before going out onto the back porch to have a cigarette. The night was clear and starry; any other time it would've been great to listen to Melissa picking her guitar and sing soft melodic hymns that helped ease my mind. The back porch was a simple concrete slab with some patio furniture and a hanging glider swing that I had built the summer before. I took a seat in the swing and began to sway slowly as I lit up my cancer stick.

Something was bugging me.

I heard myself whisper, "Daniel Mullinax…"

Jessie had, in my dreams at least, suggested that I look up his profile which implied he had a criminal record. I walked back into the kitchen and into the living room to retrieve my laptop computer. I returned to the outside swing and connected to the secure online law enforcement portal. After wading through various entries I finally came upon the correct record for one Daniel Isaiah Mullinax. He had been arrested previously for soliciting.

The second party of the arrest was Pamela Hoyle.

The third and final arrestee was Garry Barber.

I snuffed out what little was left of my cigarette and rubbed my eyes. I didn't want to see who the arresting officer was but curiosity got the better of me.

"Dear God, no…"

The arresting officer was Detective H. Wade Carpenter.

The area where they were caught was a now-defunct Motel 6 located on the outskirts of the county heading towards Canada. There were no notes on file except for one mentioning an ongoing prostitution sting that was initiated after whistleblowers noticed an uptick in illicit activity. I forwarded the case number to my e-mail address. The physical file would contain the docket number as well as any other reports and interviews conducted.

"I… I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Startled, I shoved the laptop off to the side and leapt to my feet. With gun drawn, I pointed it directly to a slender silhouette on the other end of the porch. Without hesitation, I ordered the shadowy figure to slowly step into the light that was spilling through the window of the backdoor. The soft sound of women's tennis shoes scraping against the concrete pad filled the air as the visitor slowly advanced forward. I lowered my gun a little in bewilderment.

In utter shock, I called to her, "Julia?"

Julia Horacek, once a devoted subordinate of Jeremiah Surd, looked at me with bloodshot green eyes and a weathered posture. Seeing her in a blood-stained Hard Rock Café shirt and torn blue jeans was a far cry from the upper class killing machine that she strived to be. Dyed auburn hair that shimmered with sweat flowed past her shoulders. I kept my firearm pointed at her for a few seconds more before slowly returning it to my holster.

If she was a threat, it wasn't to me.

"May I sit down?" she asked, reaching across her stomach to hold onto her other arm. "I'm… I'm really tired."

I motioned over towards the glass patio table. I pulled out the frail woman's chair, allowing her to slowly ease into it.

With a sad smile, she said, "Are you always this polite to your enemies?"

"Call it giving you the benefit of the doubt," I replied as I sat down. "I received a phone call that your partner in crime has been successfully picked up. If that's what you're here for, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Lorenzo's still alive? Thank God," Julia said with a heavy sigh of relief. "I thought they would've got to him by now for sure."

"I imagine 'they' refers to the same assholes that are essentially making this whole planet a goddamn stage play, correct?"

"Then you know?"

I took out another smoke and said, "Kind of hard to keep that a secret when you're the main star."

I offered Julia a cigarette who took it eagerly. After we both had an initial puff or two, I asked, "Why are you here, anyway, Julia?"

"Lorenzo called me two days ago," she said. "Well, let me back up: I've been underground for the past five years. The department has been after me ever since the Mullinax incident."

"Is that what they're called: The Department?"

"Each branch is segregated into different specialties called departments. Each department gets assigned a generic number to help ensure at least some level of secrecy and ambiguity. The department that's after me is one of the core groups responsible for the overall health of the entire operation."

She looked towards the kitchen.

"I hate to be a bother, but… do you have anything to eat? All I've had today was a cheese sandwich from the shelter."

"Yeah, come on, there should be some meatloaf left," I said.

We finished our cigarettes, tossing the butts into the grass. I opened the door and allowed Julia to go first.

"Always a gentleman," she said, turning to me. "I would expect nothing less from the great Jonny Quest."

I shut the door and locked it behind me.

"I would hope you would expect nothing less from your average male," I said in reply. "And I'm anything but great. Make yourself at home over there at the kitchen table. I'll heat you up a plate."

Julia sat across from where Jessie once occupied and looked all around the room in awe. I could hear Melissa coming down the hallway.

She started to ask, "Honey, is there…?"

Upon seeing Julia, she froze in her tracks like a deer in headlights.

"Oh, hello," she said nervously. "I, I'm sorry… I just…"

"It's okay, dear," I explained. "This is just one of my former adversaries."

Melissa's eyes grew wider.

Julia smiled uneasily as she stood and extended her hand, saying "Hello… I'm Julia Horacek."

Melissa gingerly shook Julia's hand.

"Julia, this is my fiancé: Melissa Jenkins," I said.

I picked up a second set of footsteps coming down the hall. The first blaring thought was "OH SHIT" screaming over and over again. I quickly slid the plate into the microwave before making a beeline for the dining room. Jessie had taken two steps past the hallway's threshold before setting her eyes on Julia and switching into kill mode.

"You!" she screamed before trying to tear towards the woman. I immediately stepped in and wrapped both arms under Jessie's and clasped my wrists behind her neck in a sleeper move that was often used on belligerent suspects resisting arrest. Julia backed away from the table as Melissa stood there in shock as I dragged one hundred and thirty-five pounds of muscle and adrenaline back towards the hallway.

Jessie continued to shout, "Let me go, dammit!"

Julia lowered her gaze to the table as Melissa stepped over to her. I pulled Jessie out of sight into my office and shut the door with my foot before letting the fiery redhead go. Jessie immediately set her sights on me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Jonny?!" she yelled. "Do you know who the hell that is in there?!"

"Jessie, I am perfectly aware of who that is," I said calmly. "Fact of the matter is: she showed up outside while I was doing some research and she has some information about what's going on. She's a vagrant woman who I could easily beat down with a nightstick or, better yet, blow her away."

"I prefer that option the most, to be honest."

"I'm sure you do. However, given the circumstances that we are in right now, I'm willing to lend an ear to anyone that might have some useful information. That being said, I am going to exercise this opportunity in order to gain some insight. Afterwards, you can do fuck-all to her for what I care. Is that reasonable?"

Jessie crossed her arms and looked away. I could tell she was mulling it over.

Finally, begrudgingly, she muttered, "Yeah, I guess it is…"

"Look," I said. "You don't have to be in there."

"But I want to."

"Okay, but we play by my rules: no intimidation, no threats of violence, and no torture. I know you want to waterboard her until there's no water left in the Atlantic, but at the moment, she is useful to me. Agreed?"

She gave a firm nod. After grabbing a legal pad and pen, I opened the door and we reentered the dining room. Melissa had retrieved Julia's dinner from the microwave and was quietly conversing with her. Both women looked up in hesitant anticipation. I walked around the table and took a seat across from Julia as Jessie occupied the only chair that was left.

I dropped my pad and pen onto the table.

"Okay, Julia," I said. "Let's start with why Lorenzo called you…"


	35. Thirty-Four

Julia had been released from prison not long after Surd's passing. From what she could gather, someone up top wanted her back out in the field. She didn't know why and couldn't begin to fathom what she could do given that her only purpose in life had finally succumbed to the inevitable. Julia was handed an envelope with seventy-five thousand United States dollars and told to make a new life.

Moving to North Dakota seemed like a good start.

"My half-brother had a farm out there," she explained. "He was well connected in the big food companies like ConAgra and owned a lot of interest in various cash crop homesteads around the Midwest."

Julia took up a job at a local grocery store and lived quietly as she could. All of her friends—if one would even consider them that—were dead or long forgotten. Any criminal record of her past deeds on all levels were sealed away as far as she could tell. The farm life was a welcome breath of fresh air: it was nice living in an environment where you had more control over your destiny.

Four years passed and Julia had managed to work her way up the chain of command at the grocery store. She even developed a new love interest with a local rancher named Derek.

"As always is the case," Julia sighed. "Happiness is not meant to last forever."

Lorenzo Alejandro called one evening just as she was arriving home from a long day.

She continued, "He said I was in danger. Normally, I would brush this off as utter bullshit, but he didn't sound the same. He was frantic, paranoid even. He said that I needed to meet him in Alabama."

"What did you say?" I asked.

"I asked him what the hell was going on. He wouldn't answer. Just begging, pleading with me to be in Alabama no later than the following Monday. After that, I was on my own."

"So you went to Alabama?"

"Only after they found Derek's body hanging in his pasture. He was stripped naked and vivisected."

Melissa gasped before asking, "They were looking for you?"

Julia nodded sadly as she wiped her eyes.

"I do not know if he gave them what they wanted. I got a call the next day from his sister… she found him. They also burned his house down and slaughtered his animals. I packed a bag that night and left without telling anyone."

"How did you know where to meet Lorenzo in Alabama?" I questioned.

"He had given me an address for a town called Mount Meigs, off of Interstate 85. It took me a day and a half to get there."

Julia explained that Lorenzo requested to meet at a Starbucks off the main strip. She said he asked four times if she was followed and constantly looked around nervously. She asked what the hell was going on.

"He said that I was tapped for something," Julia said. "I asked him to explain this 'something.' He said that he didn't have many details, only that a power struggle was happening between departments. Lorenzo wanted to know where the files and equipment were on the neuro implants Jeremiah had developed. I told him that I thought they were either seized or destroyed. He disagreed; said they had been intercepted by our department immediately after our last… encounter."

She looked around my living room.

"Although, I must say, this does seem to suit you better."

Jessie was burning holes in Julia's head at this point. Melissa stared intently. I quietly jotted down notes.

"Go on," I said.

Julia drank the rest of her soft drink before continuing, "We were allowed a container in a warehouse in Charleston, South Carolina, where assets were kept. I gave Lorenzo the address. Then I asked him why I was targeted if he couldn't tell me what I was volunteered for. He said that I was a designated 'key' for an operation."

I looked up at her.

"You too, then?" I asked.

Julia gave a sad smile.

"There're others, I think," she said. "Anyway, he told me to stay low. He gave me a phone and a pair of keys to a pickup truck; told me that he was going to take my car to make sure I was safe. I asked him where I should go: he said New York. There were a lot of people there without scruples so finding a cash job would be easy. I almost broke down then and there. I've always wanted to live a normal life and here it was getting ripped from my hands."

Melissa asked her, "So you went to New York?"

"Yes," Julia said. "I spent the night in a local hotel. Lorenzo couldn't give me a gun in the event I got pulled over, so I was on my own in the event of trouble. It took me another whole day to make it there. I wound up in a small flat in Yonkers. I waitressed and worked nights as a hooker to try and keep busy. A year or two passed with intermittent contact from Lorenzo. He said things were getting bad in the organization, that there had been a failed coup over one of the other departments. To them, this is a giant game and the average citizen are just disposable assets that they can use to raise armies, like a life-size version of Risk. Then, in 2006, May I believe it was, I got mailed a newspaper. That's when I learned about your shooting."

"Who mailed the paper?" I asked.

"It wasn't Lorenzo—it wasn't his handwriting—which led me to believe it was Dr. Earley."

"So you know him as well?"

"I'm afraid so," Julia said. "Jeremiah worked closely with Dr. Earley. From what I was told they had known each other for many years."

"Why would he be mailing you newspaper clippings about me?"

"I told Lorenzo and he speculated that it was a sign that something big was coming up. One week after I got the paper I noticed a siege of police cars at the restaurant I worked when I showed up for my shift."

Julia covered her face for a moment before placing her hands in her lap. She swallowed hard.

"They said it was a botched robbery," Julia said. "I knew better than that. I was supposed to work the previous evening shift but got switched to morning at the last second. After all the customers had left that evening, someone or a group came in and barricaded the doors. All the employees were forced into the freezer and executed. Some were shot, others were not so lucky… they sliced the throat of the cook and threw him on the grill as he bled out. The office was ravaged: they were looking for anything that had my address on it. Luckily, the owner paid cash to all of his employees to avoid taxes. I ran back to my apartment and blocked the door. I called Lorenzo and told him what happened. He told me to move deeper into the city so I moved. I landed in a halfway house in the Bronx working the streets at night and a small corner grocery owned by a nice Indian couple."

"Is that where you came from?" I asked.

Julia nodded.

"Lorenzo told me a few months ago that there was a major shakeup and that Dr. Earley was responsible for the failed coup. I don't know if he was the rogue department or not, or if he was just trying to take advantage of the situation, but what I do know is that there is a woman… he kept saying 'Judith Waterston.' What her role in this is still fuzzy at best. What I can tell you is that she seems like a nice lady."

My heart sunk.

I blinked a few times before managing to ask, "You… you talked to her?"

"Yes," Julia said. "Not face-to-face, but over the phone. She said she was sorry for all of this…"

"What did you say?"

"I told her that I deserve every bit of what comes my way for the things I've done. She said that nobody deserves what is happening now or what is going to happen."

I sat back in my chair and rubbed my face.

I inquired, "Did she give you any indication of what this 'key' thing is about?"

"She only said that we were more than just keys: that we were gateways to something more powerful," Julia said. "She said that whoever was after me would stop at nothing, whether it be capture or extermination. She said that you, of all people, would definitely be able help."

"Help what?"

"She didn't say."

"Great," I muttered. "You said that the people that are after you are responsible for the overall health of the group, obviously that means that they feel you're a threat or a very valuable asset if they're willing to maintain a scorched earth policy. I would like to know what the Mullinax shooting did to prompt such an uptick in their quest for you."

Julia nodded: "I think that's what Lorenzo was going to explain. He called me three months ago and said that I needed to come here, that he had found someone that could help. It was a prostitute…"

"…named Pamela Hoyle, right?"

She gasped, "Then… does that mean…?"

"You're too late, I'm afraid," I said. "She's dead. I guess Lorenzo was trying to set up a meeting between all of you?"

"Yes, that's right. He said that she knew a psychiatrist who is involved in the project and could help give us the upper hand."

"Well I've got bad news: he's dead as a goddamn doornail as well."

Julia buried her face in her hands again and began shaking her head.

She kept repeating, "No, no, no..."

"You thought they would go after Lorenzo first?" I asked.

She looked up, painful distraught gripping her like a vice.

"That's what he said," Julia replied. "He said if he was dead to try and find Pam."

"Then why stop here when you were on your way to meet him?"

"Because… I'm scared."

Jessie whispered a swear word in disgust.

"You're a police officer," Julia continued. "Not only that, you're Jonny Quest, someone who has managed to survive a lot more than what I ever imagined. Who's to say that me meeting Lorenzo isn't some elaborate ploy? What if they've had control of him all along?"

I stared at her silently. The Julia I knew was nowhere to be seen. Instead, here was a broken woman who more than likely couldn't be trusted and yet had the gall to reach out to a former enemy—and a law enforcement official at that—for protection.

"Lorenzo has been captured," I said flatly. "But not by them. At least, I don't think. He's being held at the station by one of Dr. Earley's associates."

Julia breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"Thank God," she exhaled. "When can we see him?"

"I'm supposed to be picked up tomorrow morning at eight," I said. "And you're coming with me."

"What do you mean?"

Jessie got a stern tone in her voice, saying, "Jonny…"

I pointed into the living room and said, "You're going to sleep in there on the couch."

Then I pointed at Jessie, saying, "And she's going to keep a gun pointed at you all night to make sure you don't try anything cute."

All eyes, in total disbelief, were on me now. I stood up from the table and removed my cuffs from my belt. I motioned for Julia to stand as well.

"Julia Horacek, you're under arrest under penal code 17-A section 402: criminal trespass. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you; you have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed to you before any questioning. Do you understand your rights?" I asked.

She nodded.

I walked around the table and handcuffed Julia in the front.

"If you need to go to the bathroom, one of us will help," I said. "But so help me God, Julia: if you try to hurt anyone under this roof that isn't trying to kill us and I will add you to my body count. You got that?"

Julia looked at me with a worried expression. Obviously, I wasn't the Jonny Quest that she used to know either.

"Loud and clear," she finally said.


	36. Thirty-Five

"What the fuck are you thinking?" Jessie berated on the back patio. "You're seriously going to keep that bitch under your roof for the next eight hours?"

"And you have a better plan?" I asked. "I'm taking her with me tomorrow to the station to get some answers out of her and Lorenzo. I sure as hell can't risk somebody getting to her before we make it there."

"Jonny, for the love of God, what makes you think that she can be trusted?"

"I never said she could, Jess."

Jessie sighed loudly and sat down on the glider. Running her hands through her red hair, I could tell she was fighting the urge to march back into the dining room and blow Julia's head off.

"Look," I offered. "If you would rather me keep an eye on her all night, that's…"

Jessie shook her head and interrupted: "That's not the problem."

"Then what is it?"

"I just… I don't know…"

I sat down on the glider next to her.

"I don't know how you do it, Jonny," she continued. "I feel like I'm in over my head and it's not even me that's being targeted. How do you manage to keep it all together? Surely, all the drinking and smoking can't be your secret… can it?"

We started to swing slightly.

I stretched my arm out across the back of the seat and said, "I wish it was that easy. To be honest: after shooting that woman those years ago, I feel like I'm barely holding it together. I cry randomly and can't stand the smell of gasoline. Whenever I have uniform duty and get a domestic abuse call, it takes every ounce of my being to keep from dragging the perpetrator out into the front yard and beating him to death with a tire iron. I've been diagnosed with depression and bipolar disorder. I tried to move into something else but I'm too scared that the next person they would hire to replace me wouldn't be good enough. That… and I'm scared that I wouldn't be able to do anything else."

"Jonny, you're one of the most talented people I know. You're not married to your job…"

"You sure about that?"

Jessie placed her hand on my knee and looked at me with her pleading emerald eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but came up empty. Instead, she scooted over next to me and rested her head on my shoulder.

A few minutes passed before Jessie took a deep breath and stood up.

"I guess I better go tuck your guest in," she said. "Got any duct tape?"

I stood up as well, saying, "Ask Melissa: should be some in the cabinet."

We walked back into the kitchen. Melissa retrieved Jessie the tape that she had requested and proceeded to wrap her torso like a mummy in order to keep her arms from moving. Julia started to object but felt it would be wiser to remain silent and follow the Marine's stern orders. After Jessie was satisfied with her handiwork, she turned to me and asked, "Mind if I take a shower first?"

I nodded and asked Melissa to show Jessie where the linens were. As the two women walked down the hallway towards the bathroom, I returned my attention to Julia.

"Nothing personal, I don't think," I said while scratching the back of my head.

Julia shrugged the best way she could in her new constraints. She followed me into the living room where I prepared her a spot on the couch. My prisoner sat down and scooted up against the pillows and kicked off her worn sneakers before pulling her legs up onto the other cushions. I walked over to my liquor cabinet and poured a glass of whiskey. Sitting down in my easy chair, I asked Julia, "So, are the police actually searching for you since you disappeared?"

"I'm probably on a few missing persons list, but really… I'm not anyone important, Jonny," she said. "They probably wrote me off as dead and forgot about me. It makes it easier to kill me that way."

I drank my first shot.

"So, I must ask," she continued. "Why aren't you with Jessica?"

I gave a slight smirk as I poured another shot.

"I honestly don't think that's any of your business, Miss Horacek," I replied sycophantically.

"Maybe so, but then again, you are going to be my host for the next eight hours, and that's only if 'they' don't kick down the door."

I drank another glass of liquid courage.

"Let's just say that Miss Bannon had a lapse of judgment with 'Mrs. Robinson.'"

"Holy shit," Julia spurted. "I never knew she was… into that."

"I thought all of you girls were up for a little experimentation every now and then."

Julia blushed and didn't say anything.

"Here," I said, grabbing the remote. "What do you like to watch?"

"Investigation Discovery: I love crime shows."

I switched it to the desired channel and put my alcohol back in its place. As I dropped the glass into the sink, I watched Jessie walk into the living room dressed in an old t-shirt and gym shorts carrying her handgun. With her hair wet and lipstick gone, Jessie looked more like your average college dorm denizen than the hardened Marine that she portrayed herself to be. I went to the bedroom where Melissa was sitting on the bed.

As I was unloading my gear onto the dresser, she got up and walked over behind me. Wrapping her arms around me waist, Melissa rested her head into the middle of my shoulder blades. I held onto her hands as she gave me a slight squeeze.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

I took a deep breath and said, "It'll be okay… I promise."

I turned around to face her. She had been crying recently.

"How can you promise me that, Jonny?" Melissa asked. "The way that Jessie put it, you have about as much control over this situation as you would over a tornado. These people… this… organization… what is it all about? Is it government? Is it more than that?"

I brought her in close and hugged her tight.

"I don't know what it is," I said softly. "Regardless, I intend to get to the bottom of this."

"Even if it kills you, right?"

I pulled back enough to look down into her crystal blue eyes and said, "Everyone has secrets. Some are just worth killing for."

She placed her head back onto my chest. I looked into the dresser mirror.

"And I don't intend to be one of the victims."


	37. Thirty-Six

I asked Melissa to search the North Dakota papers online to see if there was anything corroborating Julia's story. I didn't appreciate fibbers but she had me in a bind: there was a chance I could use her as leverage against Lorenzo or, if push came to shove, threaten to hand her over to her potential captors if she didn't divulge more. Standing under the raining hot water of my shower head, I placed my head against the tiled wall and closed my eyes.

I was tired, sore, and incredibly restless.

I thought about Wade and the pain he would be experiencing for months, the grueling physical therapy and possibly numerous reconstructive surgeries he would have to endure. I thought about asking Melissa to marry me, the lovemaking we experienced that night, and the dream of finally living a somewhat normal life. I thought about Jessie and the demons that plagued her, her constant torture of a life with me that just wasn't going to happen.

I thought about shooting Patricia Mullinax.

A soft knock at the door jerked me back into reality.

"Come in," I said.

The bathroom door opened and Melissa's voice filled the foggy air.

"I found it," she said. "They're lying on the bed if you want to look at them."

"Thanks, honey. How's Jessie and Julia?"

"Julia dozed off watching Hell's Kitchen so I put a blanket on her. Jessie is reading the rest of the book. I made her a gin and tonic to help her relax."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Jessie relaxing in an arm chair with a loaded gun, a good book, and a gin and tonic: it was the perfect scene for the cover of Better Homes and Garden. I finished my shower and performed the rest of my nightly ritual. I walked out of the master bath back into the bedroom and put on my evening wear—gym shorts and socks—before picking up the printouts. I sat down on the edge of the bed while I scanned through the story.

Everything seemed to check out: the reporter's photographs of the farm, the police tape, the picture of Julia and a blurb about her disappearance.

"Find anything useful?" Melissa asked as she changed into her tank-top. In a house where there was only one Y chromosome amongst the whole group, she found it unnecessary to warrant the need of pajama pants or shorts.

"Says Julia's house was trashed," I said without looking up. "Surprised they didn't try to burn it to the ground… probably didn't want to draw any more attention than necessary."

"Any reports of any strange characters around town?"

I shook my head, saying, "No… at least, not in these articles."

I dropped the papers onto the nightstand. Melissa pulled back the comforter and sheets and patted my usual spot on the mattress. I slid underneath the cool covers and turned out the lamp. Melissa snuggled up to me and put her arm across my bare chest. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and stared at the ceiling.

"I love you Jonny Quest," she whispered.

I whispered back, "I love you, too, Melissa Brooke Jenkins."

We kissed once more before attempting to drift off to sleep. As I began to lose consciousness, I peeked at the bedroom door.

Maybe it was my imagination—I don't have the gall to ask her—but I could've swore that I saw Jessie watching us fall asleep before lowering her head and walking back to the living room, defeated.


	38. Thirty-Seven

I woke up at six-thirty on the dot without the alarm even getting a chance to go off. I turned it off before it could wake Melissa. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I quietly slid off the bed and onto my feet. I had dreamt about Jessie again and how I was the key. Something new had arisen, though: she couldn't find the words to describe it, instead just repeating the words "shooting" and "sorry." I woke up at ten minutes after four with a slight gasp. After a quick bathroom break I returned to bed and managed to sleep two more hours.

I changed into a dark grey suit with light blue plaid shirt and dark blue tie. After brushing my hair and slipping my gear on, I walked into the dining room. Peeking into the living room yielded Julia sleeping on her side facing the inside of the couch under a large throw blanket while Jessie—also covered by Melissa—had fallen asleep in the chair with the book in her lap and an empty glass on the end table next to her. I silently walked over to the Keurig and popped in my favorite morning blend.

Sitting down at the dining room table with coffee cup in hand, I heard Jessie stir and then sit up from the chair. She wandered into the dining room still half-asleep and took the seat adjacent to me.

"Good morning," I said. "Want some caffeine?"

With her eyes half-closed and red hair a mess, Jessie gave a slight nod. I returned shortly with another cup and slid it her way with some creamer.

"How'd you sleep?"

She poured some creamer and then slammed back the mug. Setting it back down onto the table, she said, "Like shit. I feel like going back to sleep, honestly."

"You're more than welcome to. I'm just going to take Julia with me to the office while Steve and I go out and do detective shit."

Jessie gave a slight mouth gesture before taking another large sip.

"How'd you sleep?" I asked.

"Off and on," she replied. "I think I passed out at three."

My mobile phone buzzed with a text message. I picked it up off the table and read the notification.

"Looks like Miss Bostic just checked in successfully."

Jessie made a small "Mm-hmm" sound before setting her cup down.

"You going to be alright today?" I asked.

"I'll live, if that's what you're asking. Are you going to be gone all day?"

"Maybe. I might not see you and Melissa until tonight at Dad's. Go back to bed, Jessie; I'll let you both know if anything comes up."

Without speaking, Jessie slowly slid out of the chair and sauntered back into the living room where she took up refuge in her chair. I sent Steve a text message asking if he was awake. Seconds later, I received a reply: he was, and he was on his way. I dialed his number.

Steve picked up and said, "Slight change of plans: the girl's in danger."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Earley called me about forty-five minutes ago. He said that they've caught wind of what we're doing and are trying to intercept. Have you ever fired an assault rifle before?"

"No, why?"

"Consider this a learning experience, then, because we may face resistance."

I closed my eyes and rubbed my face.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, "What _kind_ of resistance are you expecting?"

"Depends," Steve said in response. "If they want to test the waters again, probably two kids that have been programmed and then hopped up on PCP to give them extra strength. If they know for sure that it's me that is helping you, then they'll send the Cleaner."

"The Cleaner?"

Steve was silent for a moment.

"Yeah," he finally said. "He was my best friend. We always referred to him as 'Reno' as in the Spanish-French actor Jean Reno—he looked exactly like him before… well, it's a long story and I don't have time for it right now. I'll be at your house in five minutes so be ready."

"Okay. By the way, I have a guest I will be bringing with me."

"Goddammit, Quest, this isn't a fucking social event we're going to…"

Before Steve could continue bitching, I interjected with "Do you know anyone named Julia Horecek?"

"Wait… Julia?!" Steve exclaimed. "Holy shit… well, that changes everything."

"You know her?"

"If she sees me, do not be surprised if she tries to make a run for it. We've had a few rendezvous in the past where I shoved a gun so far down her throat I could've blown her ovaries out of her asshole. I'll figure out what to do with her when I get there. See you then."

Steve hung up. I set my phone back down onto the table. I considered waking everyone up to alert them to what I was going to be off doing but decided against it. Worrying about them worrying about me is what would cause me not to focus on the situation at hand and get killed.

I got up and went to my utility closet. I pulled out a bulletproof vest and a box of .45 ACP ammo for my handgun. Walking over to the refrigerator, I wrote on the small whiteboard "I'll see you all tonight at dinner. Love, Jonny." I knew it wouldn't be much consolation as a farewell message in the event that this was the last time I walked out the front door, but I was just too goddamned stubborn to die, at least not without a fight.

I walked into the living room after slipping into my vest. Jessie was sound asleep as was Julia. I gently pulled the blanket off of her and shook her.

"Come on, sleeping beauty," I said. "Time to get up."

Julia rolled over and groaned slightly.

"What… time is it?" she asked.

I reached under her and pulled the bound woman up to a sitting position. After putting her shoes back on, I helped Julia off the couch and led her out the kitchen door. Once in the garage, I removed the duct tape bindings that Jessie had meticulously applied. I removed the handcuffs that kept her wrists together and returned them to my belt. Steve slowly pulled into the driveway and came to a halt behind my car.

"Come on," I said, taking her arm.

We walked to the car. I opened the rear passenger door. Julia started to crawl in until she looked up and came eye-to-eye with Steve. Without hesitation, she immediately tried to bolt in the opposite direction only to be jerked back by my firm grip.

"Let me go!" she shouted. "You don't know who he is!"

I pulled out my gun and shoved it into her face.

"Listen here," I said firmly. "You either get into this car and help me find some fucking answers or I'm going to have a new fertilizer spread all over my front yard. You got that?"

Julia glared at me with a mixture of fear and anger.

"I knew it was a mistake coming here," she finally muttered before slowly climbing into the backseat. I shut the door and entered the front passenger seat next to Steve.

"Don't bother trying to escape," Steve said as he put the car in reverse. "The child safety locks are on. Not that you would try to escape, Julia."

"Fuck you," she said coldly.

Steve simply smiled as we backed out of my driveway.


	39. Thirty-Eight

"So… how do you two lovebirds know each other?" I asked Steve.

Steve gave me an evil glance before turning his attention back to the road. Our destination was the town of Washington, Maine, located almost thirty miles northwest of Rockland. The bald man explained that Dr. Earley had already taken the liberty of taking the risky maneuver that we were trying to avoid in obtaining the girl's whereabouts without drawing unwanted attention. From what I gathered, they weren't going to risk me getting to her first. It was unknown if they wanted her dead or alive, only that they would probably kill anyone who stood in their way.

"Well?" I pressed.

Steve looked in the rearview mirror at Julia before looking ahead at the road once more.

"We used to be coworkers before she was assigned to Jeremiah," he said. "I imagine you are already aware that she harbors no positive feelings towards the redhead's father."

"You mean Jessie?"

"Jessica, yes. Did you tell him about what happened in North Dakota?"

Julia remained silent.

Steve smirked before reaching into his suit pocket. It was the same suit from yesterday; apparently he never heard of The Men's Wearhouse. Pulling out his now trademarked shades and slipping them on to fight the upcoming sun, Steve asked, "Why do you think it was me that was sent for you?"

"You're the only one who knew," she said. "You and Lorenzo."

"Well, let me let you in on a little secret: it wasn't me, Julia. I don't cut people open like a goddamn high school science experiment. That's Reno."

"You mean _that guy_ was sent after her?" I questioned in astonishment. "To do what, kidnap her?"

Steve shook his head, saying, "I'm not sure… but, Julia… whether you believe it or not, I am sorry I didn't get there in time."

"Whatever," she sighed sarcastically. "Thanks to you, I'll never have a normal life."

"You could've said 'no,' you know."

"What choice did I have?!" Julia shouted, latching onto the back of the seats. "I had nothing, _nothing!_ It was either join you and Lorenzo or be left to the streets again!"

"You used to be a prostitute?" I asked.

She sunk back into her seat and crossed her arms.

"I don't wish to discuss that part of my life," she murmured.

"At least you kept your promise," Steve added.

I turned to Steve and asked him, "Promise?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about; something personal."

Skeptically, I accepted it at face-value and let it go.

"When we get there," he continued. "I want you, Jonny, to secure the girl. Julia and I will start fortifying."

Julia got annoyed, asking, "Who said I was going to help?"

"You're going to help or get shot. You're not going to get far if you try to run—if not by me, then by them—your best bet for survival is to stick with me."

"You said that last time and look what happened."

"You're still alive, aren't you?"

"At this point, what difference does it make?" she bemoaned. "I have no life, no future, I can't sleep at night. I haven't had a decent meal until last night at Quest's house."

"Did you enjoy it?" I asked.

"Yes," she said with exhausted gratitude. "You don't know how much it is appreciated, especially considering all the trouble I've caused you in your youth…"

I mumbled under my breath, "You have no idea..."

An upcoming road sign announced the town: Washington.

We were close.

Steve pressed harder on the accelerator, pushing the luxury car to eighty through the winding forest roads. Densely packed trees lined either side of the road with the exception of the occasional driveway or walking path. My heart began to beat faster. I turned around and looked at Julia: she was staring straight ahead out the windshield. What seemed like hours were mere minutes until we took a hard turn into a gravel driveway. With a slight squeal of tires, Steve floored it over the loose stones as we made our way through the trees. A luxurious two-story brown brick and stone home that looked around three-thousand square feet sat on a wide open clearing amongst the thick foliage.

"Who has custody of her again?" I asked in amazement as we slowed down and pulled up to the garage doors.

"The file will probably say either her uncle or her grandparents, I can't remember which," Steve said as he put the car in park and popped the trunk. "In actuality, though, these are trained mercenaries posing as foster parents. Don't worry: they're on Dr. Earley's payroll."

"Can they shoot?"

"They better. These assholes don't come cheap."

We got out of the car. I opened the rear passenger door to let Julia out while Steve lifted the trunk lid. He looked up at me.

"Catch," he said as he tossed me a rifle.

"What's this?" I asked as I examined it.

It looked like a beefed up M16 with forward grip under the barrel with holographic sights. With dark green grips, a black stock and barrel, it was quite menacing.

"That's an M4A1 SOPMOD. Takes five-point-five-six millimeter. Here…"

He tossed me three magazines. After some fumbling, I managed to get it inserted into its slot and cocked the gun. I slipped the extra two into my pocket.

"When you run out," Steve said. "Switch to your sidearm. One of us will try to be reloading mags unless they have more inside. Alright Julia, here's yours."

She looked at him, puzzled, before being handed an M1 carbine. Julia took it in her hands and examined it thoroughly before looking at the bottom butt of the gun. Her eyes lit up as she said, "This is…"

Steve cut her off: "Thank me later."

He handed her three magazines as well. Julia quickly inserted the first cartridge with ease and readied the rifle. Steve reached into the trunk and removed his gun: another M4A1 like mine. After loading it and slipping some extra magazines into his own pockets, he motioned towards the front door.

"Come on," he said. "Let's wake some people up."


	40. Thirty-Nine

The paternal foster parent was a French-Canadian gentleman named Boyce Descoteaux. With smooth, light blonde hair and charismatic, bright brown eyes, his large stature and unshaven face gave me the impression that after a hard day of lumberjacking he would go snuggle kittens at the local animal shelter. The maternal foster parent, posing as Descoteaux's wife, was a native of Maine named Clarissa. Like Jessie, Clarissa was a natural redhead, although with hazel eyes instead of Jessie's vibrant green and with longer hair.

I caught Steve off guard when I introduced myself to Boyce in French.

Boyce simply smiled, replying to me in kind, " _Your French is flawless, Detective Quest. I imagine it isn't by coincidence?_ "

" _Maine has one of the biggest French populations outside of Louisiana, Monsieur Descoteaux,_ " I said. " _It was either learn what the locals were saying behind my back or be called an asshole without even knowing it._ "

"If you're done showing off, Jonny," Steve said firmly. "I think we need to get ready. Where's the girl?"

Clarissa handed Julia a cup of coffee. We were situated around the kitchen table in the extravagant kitchen that made households in the magazines look like the back of a Burger King. This had definitely been a week of surveying expensive houses, not that I minded: most of my adventures involved rickety beach houses, rundown mobile homes, and abandoned buildings that would make Michael Myers say "Fuck this" and go find somewhere else to haunt.

"She's asleep," Clarissa said, turning back to me. "I'll move her to the safe room once I know what the plan is."

"Safe room?" I asked.

"In the basement," Boyce said. "Below the foundation is an underground room with an escape tunnel about one-thousand yards east of the house into the woods."

He turned to Steve and asked, "Who exactly is after Gwyn?"

Gwyn. Gwyn Mullinax. I swallowed hard and tried to keep the visions suppressed.

Steve lit a cigarette, saying, "Somebody up top is trying to undermine Earley it seems. They are either trying to swipe control or sabotage it to the point that he'll be destroyed in the process. Whatever the case…"

He turned to me.

"It all leads back to Jonny, here."

"I read about the murders," Boyce said, turning to me this time. "They must have some strong connections in the media to keep this quiet. It gives me the impression that whoever is orchestrating this whole ordeal wants to subvert control without causing too much disturbance. We'll help you any way we can, Mr. Quest."

I gave an appreciative nod.

"When did you get the call?" Steve asked.

"Four hours ago," Clarissa answered. "He said they're sending the Cleaner. He also said that you know him personally."

Steve took a drag off his smoke and said, "I'm afraid so."

"Are you going to have any trouble killing him?"

"It's going to be my ultimate goal to kill him."

"You sound pretty sure," I contested.

Steve gave me a somber look.

"He needs to die, Jonny," he said somberly. "He's suffered enough."

Julia finished her coffee and asked, "What is our plan of attack? Are we going to just keep shooting until we run out of bullets?"

"We intend to stall him as long as we can," Boyce explained, tapping the table. "I want you and Clarissa to escort Gwyn through the escape tunnel and wait at the exit. This whole house is prewired to explode as well as the safe room should it be breached. Once you make it out or, if we're dead, you will need to get out of the state as fast as you can. The next safe house is in North Carolina just outside of Maggie Valley."

"Why is it so important this girl lives?"

"Mommy?"

The little voice from behind startled me as I immediately flung around in my chair. Everyone else looked up in dire shock. Gwyn was standing in the foyer of the kitchen in pink cotton pajamas. She was an exact duplicate of her mother, especially in her facial structure. Upon seeing me, Gwyn froze in absolute fear after her eyes widened.

It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"P… police man?" she asked with shaky confidence.

"Gwyn," Clarissa said gently. "This is Detective Quest. He's the police officer that rescued you. Why don't you come over and say hello?"

Gwyn cautiously approached and stood in front of me. She looked me over silently for a few moments.

Trying to show some goodwill, I asked her, "Would you like to see my badge?"

She nodded.

I reached into my coat pocket and handed her the leather case that held my department star. Gwyn held it in her hands like she was holding the Holy Grail. After handing it back, she looked at me once more. Before I could react, the child climbed into my lap and held onto my neck, crying. I held onto her, slowly rocking back and forth. Everyone else in the room remained silent.

"Please don't go," Gwyn sobbed.

I reassured her, "I'm not going anywhere."

The front door was immediately kicked in. Through instinct, I launched from the chair with the small girl in my arms, frantically running for the basement door. I could already hear the exploding gun shots and shattering glass. As I trampled down the stairs, I heard the kitchen table flip over to be used as a barricade. When I got to the bottom, Clarissa was screaming my name.

I yelled back up at her that I had Gwyn. The woman ran down the stairs with Julia in tow, both armed to the teeth.

"Go up there and help them," Clarissa ordered. "Gwyn, sweetie, Detective Quest has to go save his friends."

Gwyn initially protested against her foster mother's directive. I reached into my pocket and pulled back out my badge. I handed it to Gwyn and said, "Hang on to this for me… don't lose it, okay?"

Even through her tears, Gwyn managed to grasp firmly onto the token that would hopefully lead me back to her. Clarissa handed me the M4 and pointed back upstairs. Gunshots, a child screaming, swearing, the whole world was coming down around me.

I ran back up the stairs to join the firefight.

It was just another day at the office.


	41. Forty

Hiding behind the kitchen's island across from the stove, I peered around and fired off a few short bursts. Steve had managed to provide enough cover fire for me to dive with the elegance of a boulder careening towards the interstate onto the cold hard linoleum next to him. Boyce pulled the kitchen table back towards our hiding spot.

"Are they going to the safe room?" the burly, French-speaking killer asked while reloading his MP5, a smaller, more compact counterpart to my M5.

"Yeah," I replied. "What's the plan?"

Steve peered over the top of the counter and fired off a few short bursts. I heard a gurgled scream from the living room followed by a padded thud.

Turning to me, he explained, "We need to stall these assholes for a few more minutes."

"How many are there?"

"Three now. I haven't seen Reno…"

There was a creaking noise from upstairs directly above us.

Boyce immediately grabbed me and rolled in the opposite direction as Steve scrambled around the island. A barrage of bullets shattered the overhead fluorescent light and dropped down like a massive rainstorm of lead into the kitchen floor where we were once positioned. As Steve pointed his rifle towards the ceiling and let loose, Boyce and I fired upon the living room assailants. Indeed, as Steve said, there were now three: dressed in black tactical uniforms complete with helmets and visors, they were armed with weapons that looked akin to what I was yielding. The first one hid behind the wall of the entryway at the front door while the other two hid behind the staircase leading up to the second floor.

A dead one was crammed between the glass coffee table and sofa.

"Follow me," Boyce said, leading the charge.

We strafed around the kitchen island and ran towards the staircase. Baddie at the front door hid on the porch outside to avoid the warning shots I fired towards his direction. Boyce was quick to dispatch the other two as they tried to make a hasty retreat towards the back of the house, emptying another complete magazine into their backs. I covered him at the landing while he reloaded.

"Jonny, take point," Boyce ordered. "I'm having to switch to my sidearm."

I started up the carpeted steps towards the second floor. I stopped at the corner and peered down the far side of the hallway towards the rooms over the living room. I reloaded my gun and swept the corner, marching towards the master bedroom that overlooked the kitchen. I stopped short of the door itself and listened: whoever was shooting was reloading. I immediately charged through the entry and aimed it directly towards the back of the harbinger of second-floor lead poisoning. Whoever it was, wearing a red latex suit gave me the impression that Britney Spears had teleported to the future to not only try and kill us but serenade us with "Oops... I did it again."

"Drop your weapon and turn the fuck around slowly!" I shouted.

The would-be latex killer froze before tossing an AK-47 onto the nearby bed and turned to face me: it was a woman. Wearing a creepy plastic ko-omote mask composed of a coy painted smile and narrow gaze, I could barely make out the iris of its owner through the tiny slits of the eyes.

"Reno?" I asked.

"No," she said coldly. "I'm from Atlanta."

With that, she immediately dropped a throwing knife that was strapped to her arm and threw it at me. I turned sideways fast enough for it to slice through my suit jacket and shirt to leave a two-inch gash on my left arm. Before I could even consider my next move I felt her slender hands on my collar before I was tossed into a very expensive vanity, shattering the glass and all cosmetics on top of it. I rolled off the surface and fell on the floor. I could hear Boyce screaming my name before more gunfire erupted from downstairs.

I managed to utter "Sweet, Jesus…" before I attempted to reach for my assault rifle. Unfortunately, a brown drop cord was wrapped around my neck and, with a sharp pull, dragged me away from my prized possession of escape.

As I began to try and shove my arm into the noose to keep from passing out, my phone started ringing. With my free hand, I reached into my pocket and retrieved it. I'll admit: my idea was pretty stupid. I tossed it behind me and said, "Answer this."

Nightmare fuel lady's surprised reaction was enough slack I needed to head-butt her directly in the chin and push her off. I picked up the phone and answered, "Hello?"

"Hi Son," Dad's voice said over the receiver. "I was calling to make sure you were still coming over this evening."

"Yeah, Dad," I replied. "Hang on just a second."

I put the phone down and punched the plastic mask wearing psycho bitch square in the jaw. She faltered for a moment but was still able to come back and roundhouse kick me in the face. I fell backwards and somersaulted back onto my feet. As she took a running sprint towards me, I hooked my right arm around her shoulders and hip tossed her as hard as I could onto the softened floor that had been shot up. With a loud cracking noise the floor gave way. I rolled away from the collapsing support while my attacker fell through, smashing her head hard on the kitchen island's counter and falling onto the ground, motionless.

I looked down through the hole and yelled, "And while you're in the kitchen, make me a goddamn sandwich!"

I pulled myself back onto my feet and retrieved my phone.

"Sorry about that," I said.

Dad was a little worried: "Are you okay, Jonny?! What's going on?! Where are you?!"

"It's a long story, Dad; I'll tell you about it tonight," I replied, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Do me a favor and call Earley, tell him I want to talk, no bullshit and no more of this waiting nonsense. I don't have time to play his fucking mind games and I sure as hell don't have time to sit around all day trying to make sense of this. I want answers and I want them _now_."

"Alright, Son, alright… I'll see what I can do," Dad sighed. "Just… please, be careful, Son."

"I'll try, Dad. Gotta go."

Dad gave a goodbye and hung up. I slipped my phone back in my pocket and crawled back down through the hole in the floor. Steve and Boyce were scrambling for the basement.

"LET'S GO!" Steve shouted as he reached out for my arm.

I was immediately shoved down the stairs as Boyce slammed and bolted the door. We scrambled down the rest of the steps and to the safe room entrance: a cast iron hatch in the corner of the room that looked like a manhole cover. Boyce grabbed a crowbar lying on the ground and pried it open, revealing a metal ladder leading to a darkened underground room. I grabbed onto either side of the ladder and used my feet as brakes to slide down the ladder hastily followed by my two companions. Boyce pulled on a chain with a hard tug that was attached to the cover, pulling it back down to seal the hole.

"Come on," he said, pointing to the other side of the dimly lit room.

The safe room was the size of a car garage. The walls were unpainted cinderblocks with metal shelving units shoved up against them. Various weapons, supplies, and communication equipment was stored neatly and in an organized manner. On the far side of the room where Boyce pointed was an opened metal door. Past the door was a long, ominous tunnel lit by a string of incandescent lights. We quickly entered the corridor and slammed the door behind us, locking it.

"I didn't see your friend," I said to Steve as we made our way towards the exit in the far distance.

"He's out there," Steve said to me sternly. "He was watching."

"Watching? What, is he gauging what kind of threat we're going to be?"

"Possibly. If he's like the boy that came to the sheriff's office, he doesn't want to kill you and the girl: just capture you."

"I see... and if he's meant to kill us?"

"Then I don't know," Steve said. "Reno was always one to toy with his assignments."

I asked, "What about the woman in the plastic mask? What's her deal? Is it normal for you guys to go on jobs dressed up for Halloween?"

"It has to do with the ability to disassociate themselves from their actions, kind of like a forced split personality disorder. By compartmentalizing things that would bring excessive guilt, anxiety, fear, whatever, it's easier to file that away and numb yourself to getting the job done. They wear masks to help disguise who they are not from their victims but from themselves."

We continued on in silence for a few moments.

"So," I said cautiously. "What's your mask?"

Steve didn't say anything at first.

"I never used one."

Now I was curious.

"Why?"

Steve looked at me with a cold stare and said, "Because there is no hiding from what I've done, what I will do, or who I am, that's why."

He was silent for a minute.

"I tried," he finally whispered.

In that moment, I wondered if it was Steve who was the one that wanted to be killed in order to end the suffering.


	42. Forty-One

"How many people have you killed, Steve?" I asked as we jogged along the corridor. The exit was in sight.

Boyce looked over at the bald man, obviously curious for the answer as well.

"I don't see how attaching a number to it is going to make any difference in the situation we're in now," was the answer that came from Steve. "Clarissa and Julia are up ahead."

We slowed down to a walk once we came into closer contact with the ladies and child. I turned back around and looked towards the safe room from which we came far off in the distance.

"How long will it be before they try to come down it?" I asked.

"It's booby-trapped," Boyce explained. "I activated them on my way out. They'll be cautious, but…"

We walked out into the small clearing surrounded by thick woods. I turned and examined the heavy iron door protruding from the hillside that masked the entrance to the tunnel. Boyce removed a metal bar that served as a doorstop and allowed the iron gateway to swing back into place with a loud creaking noise. In the center of the door was a large red wheel. Boyce spun it quickly until numerous loud deadbolts sunk into place.

"I guess they're not going to be getting through that anytime soon, huh?" I asked.

He smiled at me and gave a nod, " _Oui_."

I looked down at Gwen who was nervously holding herself.

I asked her, "You okay, sweetheart?"

She stretched out her arms to me, motioning to be picked up. I stooped down and let her lock her arms around my neck and hoisted her up onto my right arm. The child rested her head on my shoulder as Steve looked around the woodland perimeter.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Three hundred feet from Washington Pond," Clarissa said. "We've got transport waiting for us."

"Any chance that they'll try to cut us off?"

"There's always that chance. I'll take point and provide forward overwatch, Boyce will take the rear. Julia, you provide roaming overwatch on three; Steve, can you take roaming on nine?"

"Yeah," Steve said, reloading his weapon. "Diamond formation?"

"It's our best chance."

"OK, let's get moving."

Clarissa pointed towards the east and instructed us to press on no matter what happened. With that, she darted off ahead of us while Steve and Julia took their respective positions on either flank. Even though I still had my handgun with me, I couldn't risk dropping Gwen. We started to move quickly. The brush crunched loudly underneath my shoes while branches and bramble slapped me in the face. It wasn't before too long that a single shot rang out.

"RENO!" Steve screamed. "GO! GO! GO!"

We immediately picked up the pace as more sniper fire flew through the trees. Gunfire from Steve and Boyce began to fill the air in return as they tried desperately to pinpoint his location. Clarissa and Julia moved in closer to me to act as a human shield. Reno was, by all counts, smarter than the average bear.

When Washington Pond came into view, a white speedboat was waiting for us not far from the sandbank. Clarissa stopped and turned around.

"Keep running and don't stop!" she shouted as she began to fire into the trees.

I shouted back at her as I ran by, "What are you doing?!"

"Popping smoke!"

Clarissa reached into a satchel she was carrying and began tossing smoke grenades onto the embankment near the boat. A large tree had grown loose from its soil and fallen over near the marine vehicle. Sensing an opportunity to get to cover, I quickly leapt onto the giant trunk and ran down its length before jumping feet first into the open cockpit. I fell with Gwen in my arms onto the floor hard. The windshield shattered as a bullet ripped through it and into the hood.

Gwen was crying uncontrollably as I held onto her and stayed low. Julia followed my lead and dove into the boat from the fallen tree as well. She propped herself up behind one of the seats and continued firing into the tree as Clarissa expelled the last of her smoke grenades. I told Gwen to stay hidden underneath me as I fumbled for the ignition. A large shadow appeared over me followed by an enormous thud. I looked up expecting Steve.

Instead, I was greeted with what I feared the most.

All I could do was whisper, "R-Reno…"

His entire face was encased in a dark brown leather; his eyes shielded by two blue circular shades. The nose, mouth, and ears were shielded from the outside by the mask: for the ears, a small pouch allowed for some comfort while a small hole in the bottom allowed sound to enter uninterrupted. The mouth and nose were covered in a wire-like fabric mesh that was bolted onto the mandible of the mask with two hoses leading to the inside of his dark green combat trench coat, reminiscent of a World War I German trench uniform.

Reno breathed for a few moments before speaking.

"So, we finally meet, Mr. Quest," he said, his voice being a complete, monotone robotic modulation generated by a device typically used by laryngectomy patients.

Reno pulled a large caliber revolver from a holster on his side and pointed it at me.

"You're coming with me."

"The hell he is," Julia shouted as she swung her rifle around towards him. Reno immediately raised his arm to blow her head off but was hit by three bullets slamming into his chest. He immediately fired his revolver towards Julia but missed, instead blowing the headrest off the chair from which she was taking cover. Reno fell into the water as Steve jumped into the boat and sat down in the captain's chair. Without saying a word, he cranked the engine and pushed it to full throttle.

"Where's Boyce and Clarissa?!" I shouted at him. "How the hell did Reno get over here?!"

Steve steered the boat towards the southeast, leaving major wakes in our escape.

"Steve?!"

He turned to me and gave me an evil glare before returning to the liquid highway in front of us.

Something told me that was most definitely _not_ going to be the last time I encountered Reno.


	43. Forty-Two

Gwen was crying and clutching onto me tightly as we ran towards an awaiting escape automobile: a 1995 blue Ford F-150 long-bed pickup. Julia threw her gun into the bed before following it and lying low as to not be seen. Steve ran around to the passenger side and yanked open the driver side door; I went to the opposite and did the same with the passenger side. I put Gwen, still visibly upset, in the middle and quickly buckled her seatbelt. The interior cabin was a dark blue with a bench seat and manual transmission. Someone had ripped out the cassette player and radio, thereby rendering our ability to listen to the local news moot. Steve flipped down the sun visor and grabbed the ignition key taped to it.

"What happened back there?" I asked as I finished securing my seatbelt.

Steve started the truck and threw the gearshift into first. We were parked on a dirt embankment used for fishing by the locals. With tires spinning and a large cloud of dust behind us, the truck propelled forward down the bumpy gravel road towards the unknown.

"Well?"

Steve didn't look at me as he said, "It was a trap."

"A trap?" I asked as I tried to console Gwen.

"Cynthia was popping smoke to try and conceal killing me. I managed to get the drop on her first, though."

"And Boyce?"

He was quiet.

"Reno shot him," Steve finally muttered. "And before you ask, I have no fucking idea why."

"I thought you said they were on Earley's payroll?"

"Either Earley is a bigger goddamn liar than I thought, or someone got to them."

After I managed to get Gwen to a point where she wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, I asked Steve, "Where are we headed?"

"The station," was his reply. "We're going to go to the chemical plant after I get some answers."

"From Lorenzo or Dr. Earley?"

"Lorenzo first: he seems to know a lot after you beat him enough. Though, maybe the same could be said for Thomas…"

I looked in the bed behind us: Julia was clutching her rifle across her chest and staring at the warm sky above. The road finally cleared the forest and lead to a small highway. Steve swerved onto the pavement and floored it, driving as fast as he could back towards the office.

"Tell me about Reno," I said. "Because I'm sure those three bullets you pumped into his chest are just going to piss him off, right?"

Steve reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Vantage cigarettes—I immediately recognized the trademarked blue bullseye on the package—and pulled out a smoke with his lips. I graciously took the one he offered. After we lit our respective cancer sticks and took a few drags, Steve let out a deep sigh.

"He's called the 'Cleaner' because he's a member of the aptly named 'Janitorial Staff' that the organization keeps," he said. "Whenever someone of his caliber is called, that means that collateral damage is not an issue: anyone who gets in the way is to be eliminated. His targets can range from entire groups to individuals to inventory destruction. No disguises, no bullshit like that, just cold blooded murder with a gruesome body trail left behind him. It's only rarely that he gets called in to do search and recover."

"How did he become who he is today?"

"What, you mean the mask and shit?"

"Yeah," I said. "Is he burned or something? Can't breathe on his own?"

Steve finished his cigarette and flicked it out the cracked window before saying, "He doesn't have a sinus cavity… at least, not anymore. His eyelids, forehead, ears, all badly deformed or removed. His larynx was too badly burned from chlorine gas inhalation."

"What happened?" I asked.

Steve looked at me, his sunglasses reflecting my grave look of anxiety.

"I happened, that's what."

"I thought you said you two were friends, though?"

"We were," he said, turning his attention back to the road. "What happened, though, is not as important as what's happening now. If I deem it important enough for you to know, then I'll let you in. In the meantime, you should focus on keeping yourself and the child alive at all costs."

"So I've been told," I sighed.

After riding in silence for about five minutes my cellular phone began to ring. I looked at the caller ID and answered.

"Hi, Honey," I said.

"Hi Baby," Melissa greeted. "Um, Jessie overheard something you said on the phone this morning about originally going to the DuPont plant today, right?"

I was silent.

Finally, I said with caution, "Yes… I'll be going there after a stop at the office. Why?"

"Well… don't be mad, but… Jessie and I…"

"Melissa… what did you do?"

I could hear her swallow hard as she braced herself.

"Well, after you left Jessie woke me up and told me what she heard. We wanted to help so we went to the DuPont plant and looked through their personnel files as well as inventory control sheets. Honey, Daniel Mullinax was a warehouse supervisor here before he died: he was in charge of maintaining a count of all chemical stock that they had. The company never got around to getting someone competent into his position since he died until recently, which coincides with your reports."

I started to rub my forehead and close my eyes.

"And how did you get in there?" I asked.

"About that," she said.

"Melissa…"

I could hear the phone being handed over. Jessie's voice came over the line.

"We borrowed one of your spare badges," she said nonchalantly. "And flirted… to an extent…"

Now I was covering my face.

"Jonny?"

"I'm here," I said. "Look, normally I would lecture you both in vein about all the laws you broke, but given the situation I think that all legality is thrown out the fucking window at this point. Was there anything suspicious there at the plant? Anything seem out of place?"

"I didn't see anything. We're about to go to the GAC plant."

"I imagine there's nothing I can do to deter you?"

"Not a chance in hell, Jonny."

"Just promise me one thing," I said.

Jessie asked, "What is it? That I won't eavesdrop on your phone calls?"

"Don't get killed because of me."

Jessie sighed and softly said my name. I glanced out the window at the passing scenery, silently wishing that I could just get lost in a meadow and fall asleep under the clouds. Unfortunately, reality is and will always be a cruel mistress.


	44. Forty-Three

I handed Gwen off to Brittany upon entering the station. Afterwards, Julia and I followed Steve towards the back of the building of the building and out the rear exit. The jail was located roughly eighty feet from the back dumpster. Steve said that he had deposited Lorenzo there "for his own safety" in lieu of being taken out before able to be interrogated. I put Julia in a free interrogation room while I raided the vending machine in the staff lounge. The big house was relatively quiet as most "customers" were eating breakfast or receiving their community service assignments. Upon returning to the brightly lit concrete room, I handed Julia a honey bun and a bottle of Pepsi.

"Thanks, Jonny," she said quietly.

I took a seat across from her in a chair that was as comfortable as sitting in an azalea bush and asked, "You okay?"

She gave out a small huff: "I don't miss the feeling of being shot at, I can tell you that much."

"I thought you lived for that sort of thing?"

"No, not really," Julia sighed.

"Then how do you explain your involvement with Surd?" I asked.

She sat back in her chair and gazed up at the overhead fluorescent light, saying, "Jeremiah was… mesmerizing in his intellect."

"You mean obsessive sociopath?"

"I think you're referring to Ezekiel Rage in that aspect, Detective Quest; if I were a doctor, in retrospect, I would classify Jeremiah as a psychopath."

"So I have to ask," I began, unscrewing the cap to my bottle of Mountain Dew. "What exactly was you hoping to gain by casting your lot with him, anyway?"

"It's a long story," Julia sighed. "To be honest, I have forgotten what exactly my motivation was. I don't even know what my motivation for even bothering to fight these people is."

I took a large gulp of pure caffeine.

I answered her, "Maybe you're like me."

Julia looked at me and tilted her head slightly, asking, "Oh? How so?"

"Too stubborn to die."

At that time, the metal door flew open and Steve entered, dragging a badly bruised and shackled Lorenzo Alejandro. Lorenzo looked like the actor Dominic Purcell had tossed himself down every flight of stairs in the Empire State Building before getting hit by an ice cream truck covered in broken glass. Wearing a bright orange garb with "KNOX COUNTY JAIL" printed on the back, his bloodshot eyes wandered around the room briefly before focusing on Julia.

Julia was in utter shock.

"Lorenzo…?" she asked in awe.

Steve pulled out a chair next to me and sat his prisoner in it. Lorenzo looked over at me warily; I returned the favor.

"We… we're in trouble," he finally managed to say.

"No shit," I replied. "Mind explaining to me why the hell you sent someone to the station to get me?"

"It wasn't him," Steve interjected. "Lorenzo was waiting to get the drop on the guy, he claims."

Lorenzo nodded slightly, saying in a tired, raspy voice, "It's true… whether you believe it or not. I knew he'd bring you back to where he was staying to schedule a pick up."

"Why didn't you just take him out at the station?" I asked.

"He would've seen me coming a mile away. Besides: what would you have done? Probably throw me in here like your bald partner in crime here has done."

"Fair enough," I said. "You knew Garry Barber and Pam Hoyle: explain to me how these two fit in with this operation and what you hoped to gain from them."

Lorenzo eyed Julia's Pepsi. Sensing he wanted some, Julia handed it to Steve who in turn helped Lorenzo take a large gulp.

Lorenzo cleared his throat, saying, "Garry Barber was a coordination specialist for gateways placed in the field here in the northeast part of the continent. There was a shipping container at a South Carolina port that contained that contained listings and photos of all the participants. He was being moved to Maine and needed to see who was in the area."

"When was this?"

"Early 2006," he said. Turning to Julia, he asked, "What did you tell him?"

"Everything that's happened to me so far," she replied.

Lorenzo nodded solemnly.

"I see…"

"Go on, Lorenzo," I ordered firmly.

"I got the stuff to Barber as requested and he made an initial contact Pam Hoyle. Pam was a senior gatekeeper for this area until you reach New York. She was going to be a prototype for a new catalyst developed by some guy named Oliver Crawford. Used to be used on young boys to make them into emotionless machines devoid of any since or remorse or question of judgment. The higher-ups wanted to start using young girls."

"Why?"

"Throughout this… 'Game' that they play," Lorenzo sighed. "Sex is one of the most often used forms of currency. I mean, these people have no use for precious metals, cash, that sort of thing; they want to assert themselves over the weaker minded. Sometimes it's not even sex: some of these individuals like to construct their own fake families to fill the void of loneliness. But what fun would an entire ecosystem of men be?"

I finished drinking my soda and tossed the empty green bottle in a nearby waste basket.

"Do you know anything about a meeting between Barber and Hoyle at a Motel Six a few years ago?" I asked.

"No," Lorenzo said, shaking his head. "I'm just a glorified errand boy now, waiting for my number to be up."

"What about the escorts? Witnesses have said that Barber seemed to go through them like my sleep medication."

"The escorts were, besides being used for personal fuck toys, being implanted with the neurological receivers that Surd had constructed."

I asked, "The ones you retrieved from Charleston?"

"Yes."

"What was the purpose of that? Preparation?"

"In a way," he explained. "I'm not entirely sure of all the details, but from what I could tell, one half was a physical implant into their brain. The other half was through ingesting of various proteins."

"Proteins?"

Lorenzo nodded, saying, "Usually from the local food and water sources. That's why you and Julia are marked as 'keys.'"

"Come again?" I asked.

"Your bodies react… differently, to the protein."

"How?"

"I'm sorry Quest: I don't know."

I looked at Steve and asked, "He telling the truth?"

"He is," Steve replied.

Lorenzo muttered, "You goddamn right that I am…"

"That's enough of that," I said directly. "One last question for now."

"What?" he asked.

I pulled out my phone and loaded up a picture of my mom that I had saved to it. I slid the cellular device across the table.

I questioned him, "Recognize that lady?"

Lorenzo leaned forward slightly and gazed at the screen. His eyes went wide.

"That's… Judith…"

He looked up at me, pale as a blank sheet of paper, and said, "That's Judith Waterston… the woman who wants me, Julia, the others…"

I leaned over the table in earnest.

"What, Lorenzo? Tell me," I said, my voice rising. "Tell me, you fucker!"

"Dead, okay, dead!"

I fell back in my chair as Lorenzo's gaze lowered slowly back down to the phone.

"And she's not going to stop," he whispered. "Until she has you back… no matter how many people die…"


	45. Forty-Four

I sat at my desk in silence, staring at the list of unopened and unanswered e-mails that populated Microsoft Outlook's inbox folder. Lorenzo couldn't give me any more answers as to how he knew this woman who looked like—no, _was_ —my mother, her intentions, and why people's lives had to be snuffed out. No matter how much I screamed at him, threatened him, even going so far as to shove my gun into his left eye and pulling the hammer back, Lorenzo shut down. I returned to the station by myself, leaving Julia and Steve back in the jail facility.

Dad was going to have a lot of explaining to do at dinner.

Pete had vacated the office to assist in a mysterious fire located at the address that I was at earlier in the morning. Apparently, the house was now a pile of burning rubble and nobody knew why. I pondered on the aspect of Reno leaving behind bodies for us to clean up. My social worker contact left me a voicemail: apparently, all files and records that pertained to the child had been collected a few years ago by an unknown agency and informed all employees that if they wanted to live long enough to see their pension they would keep their collective mouths shut.

I reached into my coat pocket to pull out a smoke when I remembered Wade's e-cigarette in his desk. I walked over to his work area and pulled open the drawer in which it resided. Reaching in, my hand bumped into something that felt like tape, as in someone had taped something to the underside of the desk. Curious, I felt around a little more and made out the outline of an envelope. I slowly unpeeled it from its hiding spot and grabbed the nicotine vapor stick. Plopping down into Wade's squeaky chair, I looked over the letter-sized envelope that I discovered. On the front, in Wade's handwriting, was "Jon." I immediately ripped it open and pulled out a folded up piece of steno book paper.

A single name was written on it: Karla Wells. A phone number was listed below it.

I walked over to the office door and closed it, making sure to lock it to ensure maximum privacy. I sat down at my desk and picked up the phone. I dialed a number only known by me to a trusted employee who could protect my call from outside eavesdroppers.

"Operator," the female's voice said after the first ring.

"I need to place a collect call, please," I replied.

After giving the number, there were four distinctive clicks, a computerized voice announcing that my call was being transferred, and then ringing. I was about to hang up after the sixth ring but the receiver picked up.

A timid woman's voice came across the line: "…Hello?"

"Karla Wells?" I asked.

Silence.

Finally, she relented, "Yes… this is Karla…"

"Wade Carpenter of the Knox County Sheriff's Office left a note for me to call you," I said. "I'm hoping you can tell me why."

A brief pause; I could still hear her breathing.

"Is he… is he dead?" she asked.

"No. He's hanging on by a thread at Maine Medical Center. He was turned to toast the other day after a man named Perry Bostic tried to heat his house using unconventional means."

Karla silently processed the information. My intuition told me she was testing me.

"Who are you looking for?" she asked.

I was looking for someone to put me out of my misery.

"Rachel Quest," I answered. "Apparently also known as Judith Waterston."

"Answer your phone."

"What are—"

My ringtone started blaring from my cell phone. I looked at the caller ID and was presented with a very blunt "UNKNOWN" label. I answered it to a busy signal.

"You passed," Karla said. "You are Jon."

I tossed my phone back on my desk, saying, "Okay, now that you've verified that it's me, why did Wade want me to call you?"

"He said if you called then he would be either dead or incapacitated," she replied. "I don't know how much help that other officer will be."

"Who, Billy? What do you know about him?"

Karla brushed me off: "It doesn't matter right now. You need answers, right? Then we need to meet."

"Oh boy," I said with a soft sarcastic tone. "Don't tell me you're going to try and murder me as well?"

"No… I actually think you're cute."

I was a little unsure of how to respond to that statement at first, but considering that she wasn't threating bodily harm at that given moment, I thanked her for her kindness.

"When and where do you want to meet?" I asked.

"Do what you always do on the tenth of June," Karla said flatly. "I won't be far away."

She abruptly hung up.

I sat there, slightly befuddled, before I put the pieces together. Like a goddamn suspense thriller, everything just had a nice, happy way of falling into place. The tenth of June was the day I visited Mom's grave: no matter the weather or under what circumstances, I always managed to find at least sixty seconds to pay a visit. The fact that this woman knew about my obsession with making that appearance led me to believe that either Wade liked to broadcast my private life to his peers or that every single minute detail about me had been recorded.

I dropped the receiver back down onto its cradle and sat back in my chair. I pondered if Dad knew about this woman as well?

I heard a set of keys being jingled as one was inserted into the office door's lock. Steve Rude entered alone while slipping the keys back into his pants pocket. Hiding behind his shades, he looked me over briefly before asking, "Anything new?"

I turned my chair to face him and responded with my own question: "Do you know anyone named Karla Wells?"

He took a seat at Wade's desk and shook his head.

"Can't say I have," Steve said. "Why?"

"I found this note taped under Wade's desk with her name and number; supposed to meet her tomorrow at or near Mom's grave."

"She going to try and kill you?"

"She says she thinks I'm cute."

Steve had a wry smile, saying, "First date, huh? You have some strange methodologies in getting laid, Detective Quest."

"Fuck off," I retorted. "Are you going to be nearby?"

"I don't know yet. I was actually stopping by to tell you I'm going to go meet with Earley."

"You going to break his kneecaps for me?" I asked.

"If it comes to that," Steve said, putting his hands behind his bald head. "Either he trying to maneuver something ham-handedly or someone has their head up his ass. In any case, you're on your own tonight kid."

"What about Julia and Gwen?"

"I'm sending them somewhere safe in Vinalhaven. They'll be sharing a safe house with the Slagle bunch."

Vinalhaven was a town on the southern end of the larger of the two Fox Islands in Knox County. Located approximately seventeen miles east of Rockland, the only accessible way to the island was by ferry. Even then, a large forest encompassed most of the island as well as the many ponds and lakes that occupied it.

"You sure they'll be safe there?" I asked.

"Those bookstore owners are still alive," Steve said. "That gives me the impression that the players are more focused on getting to you."

He got up from Wade's chair and walked to the door.

"Get something to eat, Jonny," he said to me before walking out. "You've been shot at more in this week than most detectives are in their entire careers."

"Tell me about it… but I can't stop."

"Nobody said you have to. By the way…"

Steve pulled out a DVD from his inner coat pocket and tossed it to me.

"There's everything about that case you e-mailed to yourself about Wade's run-in at the Motel 6," he said. "The physical records have been shredded and the data on the electronic version have been deleted. I asked one of my associates to pull this from one of the old tape backups."

I looked down at the optical disc before looking back up at Steve.

"How in the hell… you can read my e-mail?" I managed to ask, trying to contain astonishment and anger simultaneously.

He nodded, saying, "Let's just say that the friend that pulled the backup was nice enough to alert me to your plight. Not everyone that takes an interest into your personal business is an enemy, you know."

With that, Steve walked out of the office.

I shook my head and grabbed my keys: Jessie and Melissa needed to be pulled before they tipped off the wrong person. That, and I hated eating lunch by myself.


	46. Forty-Five

I was sitting in a corner booth of the local Chick-fil-A next to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the side of the restaurant facing the drive-thru lane. Melissa and Jessie returned to the table with their respective trays; both girls were brimming with excitement and adrenaline. As we started eating, I inquired about any discoveries they may have encountered at the next plant. I also asked for my badge back.

"Look at these shipping receipts," Jessie said, tossing copied papers at me. "They're shipping out large quantities of this chemical called cyanocobalamin."

I blinked for a moment before asking, "What's cyano-whatever-the-hell-you-just-said?"

"I called Hadji and he said it was vitamin B12 in artificial form."

"Okay, so what's unusual about that?"

"Look at the customer."

I looked down at the papers and shuffled through them until I came to the purchase order.

My heart stopped.

The customer was Quest Enterprises. The originator was Aimee Perry.

"Jonny?" Melissa asked, wrapping her hands around my arm. "Jonny, are you okay?"

I slowly handed the papers back to Jessie and continued to stare down at the tray before me. Anger, fear, and disgust bubbled up to the top inside of me. I must've been demonstrating it since I heard Jessie comment on how hard I was holding onto the tray. Melissa whispered something in my ear but I couldn't make out the words. I managed to regain control before I caused a scene and returned to reality.

I looked up at Jessie and asked, "Did you find anything else?"

"No," she said with a sigh. "They keep a lot of their files secret and we didn't want to draw any more attention than we already had."

I turned to Melissa. Her blue eyes were both comforting and mournful.

"I'm so scared," she whispered. "What's your dad hiding?"

I shook my head: "I don't know… maybe I should ask him tonight at dinner."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jessie interjected. "Jonny, I know you like to take the attitude of taking the bull by the horns, but this is… this is your _father_ we're dealing with."

"What's your point?" I asked flatly.

"My point is you already want to put Earley in a wheelchair…"

"Jess… I can restrain myself."

"Jonny, you've had one hell of a week… you need time to rest and sort things out…"

"She's right, honey," Melissa concurred. "You've been at this nonstop since Monday and have nearly died every day since then."

I looked at both of them and questioned, "Are _they_ going to stop? Is this even _real_? No… I don't have time to rest… and…"

I fell silent.

"And what?" Jessie asked.

"… And… I have an opportunity to find out if Mom really is alive…"

I slowly clenched my fists.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this," I said through gritted teeth, tears welling up in my eyes. "I don't give a shit about what happens to this world: I just want my mom back and, if not, vengeance for what happened to her."

I closed my eyes and wiped them with the back of my hand. Melissa rested her head on my shoulder and gently stroked my back while Jessie seemed lost in thought. Suddenly, she blurted, "The bookstore!"

Melissa and I shared a perplexed gaze.

"Remember that you saw Lorenzo coming into the bookstore with Hoyle?" Jessie asked. "Why was he with her when she came and bought _Night Chills_?"

I shook my head, angry with myself, and said, "I don't know… I didn't ask. Damn…"

"Tell him about the book, Jessie," Melissa beckoned.

Jessie took a deep breath and explained, "It's about a widower named Paul Annendale taking his two kids on an annual camping vacation to a place called Black River."

She rubbed her face.

"And it's located in Maine."

I didn't like where this was going.

"Anyway," the red-haired Marine said with a heavy sigh. "This scientist named Ogden Salsbury is testing conditioning techniques utilized in advertising to see if they can make a better pawn, so much so that he manages to run the town himself like a goddamn dollhouse while determining who lives and who dies. Unfortunately, he can't keep his dick in his pants and fucks women under this strange form of duress left and right. His benefactors are a Pentagon asshole and wealthy fundamentalist who thinks he's been tapped by God Himself for a holy mission, both of which want to exploit this ability that Ogden has introduced to further their own desires: wealth and control. Big surprise, I know."

I buried my face in my hands and whispered, "Fuck me…"

After regaining my composure to the best of my ability, I looked back up into Jessie's intense green eyes.

"How does it end?" I asked quietly.

Jessie looked out the window at the cars lined up in the drive-thru.

"Salsbury orders one of the residents to kill Paul's son…"

An eerie quiet made its way through the restaurant. At least, to me it did. I was becoming detached from reality: I could see people around me, including Jessie and Melissa, but they occupied a different physical plane than where my mind was taking me. I could hear them calling my name, shaking me even, but I was too far gone. Was it coincidental that my father happened to be, at least, until I could prove otherwise, widower with two children? Was it coincidental that this was taking place in my relative backyard?

What if I was looking at it wrong, though? What if I was one of the pawns instead? Instead of a widower, a widow? Jessie's voice whispered in my ear, "Think back to the shooting."

I pushed the voice back. I couldn't— _wouldn't_ —go back there. Not yet… if ever…

What if my father was going to be ordered to kill me or worse, Hadji? Would he do it if he or, more appropriately, "they" felt I was getting too far in the wrong direction? Jessie was right in the aspect that confronting Dad probably wouldn't be in anyone's best interest given the state of shock and oncoming absence of lucidity I was experiencing.

"Take me to my psychiatrist," I stated.

Melissa sat back in surprise and asked, "What…?"

"I need to see my psychiatrist," I reaffirmed. "Now."

"Okay sweetheart, we'll take you to Dr. Hull, if that's what you need."

I nodded shakily. The girls finished eating quickly while I nibbled on some waffle fries. It was decided Melissa would drive me in my car with Jessie following in hers. Before I buckled up, I texted Hadji. He replied after thirty seconds reassuring me that he and his significant other were safe at Dad's house. He followed up with a message stating that Race and Elena had already arrived and that everyone was worried about me. I texted back that I would survive and that I would see them later in the evening.

I looked over at Melissa who was moving my seat up to a position in which she could reach the pedals.

"Why do you stay with me?" I asked her.

She looked at me with a look of bewilderment, and answered with a question of her own: "Why wouldn't I stay with you?"

"Because there's a good chance that not only I may die, but you might, as well."

"Jonny, I told you from the very start when we got involved with each other that I would always be there for you. I think that in itself should've been decided when I said 'Yes' the other night."

I looked away in slight embarrassment.

"How do… How do I know you're not one of them?" I continued.

"Look at me," she said gently.

I turned and faced the love of my life. I'll never forget those brilliant blue eyes of hers or that sad smile that still managed to latch onto my soul to pull it out of the darkness that was dragging it down. She touched my face softly and said, "If I wanted to kill you, I would've already done so."

I couldn't help but smile like an idiot in return.

"I love you, Melissa Brooke Jenkins," I said.

"I love you, too, Jonathan Blaine Quest," she replied. "It'll be okay, sweetie; we'll get through this. Even if this world is going to Hell, it doesn't mean we have to suffer alone."

Melissa leaned over and kissed me on the lips. We shared a brief hug before she settled back down into the driver seat.

"Just promise me," she said. "Promise me that you won't die without a fight."

I sighed, "I'll try…"

"Trying's not good enough, Jonny; I want you to _promise_."

I looked back over at her: she was staring at me. With a solid affirmation, I promised that I would maintain a sense of self-preservation higher than what I normally did. Satisfied, Melissa started the car.

I lit a cigarette.

I needed a cold beer and a lobotomy, but I was willing to settle for a peach milkshake.


	47. Forty-Six

Dr. Hull's suite was barren.

Every piece of equipment, file, folder, piece of paper, even the trash cans, were missing. The receptionist, Brianna, was nowhere to be seen. I removed my gun from its holster and quietly walked around the empty counter and towards the back of the office where Dr. Hull's room was. The expensive stained oak door was slightly ajar. With the barrel of my handgun, I gently pushed it open. The office, like the lobby, was empty. I holstered my weapon and began to look around for any clues.

"What happened?" Jessie asked as she slowly walked through the doorway, gazing around in a terrified wonder.

I shook my head, saying, "I don't know. Whatever it is… it's probably because of me. I had asked her to see if she could dig up anything on Garry Barber. From the looks of things: she did."

From the lobby, Melissa called for us. Waiting for us was the building manager, curious as to who we were and why we were trespassing. I showed my badge and told him who I was; this immediately calmed his slightly unnerved demeanor. He introduced himself as Zack Peters and looked about ten years older than me, sporting thick black hair and a pair of tired brown eyes. Wearing a slightly wrinkled white button-down shirt, pink tie, and khakis, he looked like a leftover from Circuit City before it went tits up.

"When did Dr. Hull vacate this place?" I asked. "I only saw her earlier this week. She didn't mention anything about being late with the rent…"

"It is… rather strange," Peters said with a hint of uneasiness. "Her lease expired this week and the owners chose not to renew it."

Well, what do we have here?

"Really, now?" I asked. "Was the only tenant that was given the boot?"

"Actually, the whole building has been emptied."

"Excuse me?"

He gave a slight nod, saying, "Yes… everyone; everyone was told to vacate. I was told a new client wishes to utilize the whole building and was willing to pay an ungodly amount of money."

"Who owns this building?" Melissa asked.

Peters reached into his pocket and removed a business card. He handed it to me rather quickly.

"Lescarbeaux Real Estate Holdings," he answered. "It's a company based out of Canada. They… they actually own a lot of commercial properties here in Maine and some vacation rentals as well."

I had heard this story before, only slightly different. There was one way to find out…

"Is this a large company of investors?" I asked, slipping the card into my pocket.

"Oh, no," the building manager said, shaking his head. "Its owner is a very wealthy French tycoon, Esme Lescarbeaux. They would probably be of more help in your inquiry than I am."

"I see. Well," I replied, pulling out one of my business cards. "If you find out anything, please contact me. Dr. Hull is needed in an investigation."

"I will, Detective Quest."

We left Mr. Peters standing in the vacant unit and made our way back to the parking lot. I was careful to peek into the other offices to confirm that they were, in fact, empty as well. I turned around and looked back at the brick office building.

"This is getting more outrageously weird by the second," Jessie sighed. She noticed me lost in thought and asked, "Alright Jonny: what's on your mind?"

"Follow me," I said.

I lead the group around the building to the back where the dumpsters would be. Melissa must've figured out what I had in mind because she immediately began protesting, as did Jessie. Foregoing my better judgment—as well as audible sounds of disdain from my female accomplices—I climbed up and into the closest dumpster and started shifting bags of trash aside.

"What, in God's name, are you looking for?" Melissa asked with a grimace.

"It would be easy to cart off files and computers," I said while tossing refuse left and right. "Not so much for the furniture."

"Jonny, I don't know if this dumpster is big enough to hold furniture…"

While Melissa did have a point, there were at least two eight-foot wide bins that could hold pieces that were dismantled and destroyed. All I needed was for someone to get sloppy and…

"Son of a bitch…" I uttered.

Jackpot.

I found sawed up remnants of Dr. Hull's desk. Being solid oak meant that it would've been a pain in the ass to cart out of the office. Whoever was in charge of this clean-up crew decided to take a circular saw and break it down into more manageable chunks before giving it the old heave-ho. With some more digging I found pieces of couch stuffing and material that matched that of what I had sat on the other day. Satisfied, I climbed over the edge of the rusted green waste receptacle.

"Looks like they cut up her furniture," I said. "Found her desk and the rest of her office pieces in there."

"Do you think she's still alive?" Jessie asked.

"Too soon to tell. From the way that building manager was acting, chances are not looking good."

"You noticed it too, huh?"

"Kind of hard to miss, Jess; the guy looked like he was trying to clench his sphincter tight enough to break a two-by-four in half."

Melissa spoke up, asking, "What do we do now?"

"Let's head back to the house," I said. "I need to take a shower and change clothes. Steve gave me a DVD of a case file that Wade was involved with involving a bust of Barber and the Hoyle lady: I guess you two could examine it for me while I get ready for tonight."

Jessie and Melissa nodded.

I pulled out the business card I was given and looked at it again. I was going to go out on a very long proverbial limb and guess that this was the same "magnate," as Billy put it, that owned Barber's house.

Another long night loomed ahead.


	48. PART TWO: ASHES OF EDEN

Jessie stood in the center of the barren plot where my old house used to be. She was looking towards the lighthouse; her long, dark coppery hair flowed slightly in the gentle ocean breeze that swept over us. I always thought Jessie looked like actress Scarlett Pomers, better known as the character "Kyra" on the sitcom _Reba_.

"You're tired," she said, slowly shifting her gaze to me.

I was standing beside her, also gazing towards the lighthouse. It was dusk.

"Yeah," I said softly. "I guess that's why we're not having sex… because I'm going to have to get up soon to go to Dad's."

She nodded and turned her attention back to its original focus.

"Why don't you want to try and remember the incident?" Jessie suddenly asked.

I shook my head, answering, "I just can't… you're a figment of my imagination: you should know this already. Besides, what's there to remember?"

"Good question; you tell me."

I looked at her crossly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

Jessie smiled crassly and swayed her arms freely.

Her nonchalant reply was, "You're a detective. Good detectives always know that if they're stuck, they always go back to the beginning."

With that, I snapped back into reality. I rubbed my eyes and rolled off my bed. I needed to get a shower and then get dressed. There was work to be done.


	49. Forty-Seven

Melissa sat in the passenger seat next to me in my Mustang. Jessie occupied the back but was leaned forward over the center console in order to maintain a conversation she and my fiancé were having. I looked over at the ladies: Melissa was wearing a crème-colored sleeveless summer dress that stopped immediately after her thighs and had a vibrant floral print while Jessie wore a black layered chiffon blouse on top of a pair of white shorts. Both were so beautiful, so blissfully detached it seemed from the Hell that was around them and driving the very car that they were in. I had put on a casual dark brown button-up collared shirt and blue jeans after taking a woefully short shower; every time I wore this outfit Melissa would always playfully liken my appearance to that of formalwear for a UPS banquet.

The DVD provided by Steve proved to be useful.

"Wade listed a large sum of marked bills in a gym bag," Melissa had explained. "He also found a lot of fake driver licenses, data DVDs, and lots of reports."

The case that Wade had built against Barber and Hoyle evaporated the second the two were booked at the station. All charges that were to be brought against them were dismissed and orders to have it scrubbed from the record came down from the bench. My guess is that Wade managed to get his report in before someone could stop him in order to leave a paper trail. Unfortunately, it was too soon to tell if Wade was doing this because it was his job or if he was under the direction of someone else to intercept Barber and Hoyle.

Where that evidence was now, however, was missing. All I had to go on were the names of the magistrates and county officials who wanted to keep Barber and Hoyle clean, and that was _if_ they were still alive.

I took a deep breath as I turned down Calderwood Lane. I felt Jessie's hand gently grab my arm.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked.

I nodded without looking at her. Turning off the lane and into Dad's driveway. The two-story Victorian cottage before me was lit vivaciously; the smell of an outdoor grill filled the car with an aroma of various meats such as steak, pork chops, and other various kabobs. I parked outside of the garage next to Race's silver colored Super Duty Ram truck. After killing the engine, we exited the car and made our way to the front door. Jessie lightly rapped on the mahogany door. Seconds later it opened to reveal Estella, Jessie's mother. With a bright smile and a surprise excitement from Jessie, the mother and daughter embraced tightly before Estella hugged Melissa hard, telling her that it was so good to see her again. I slowly entered the threshold and waivered momentarily.

Estella was a glimpse into the future for what Jessie was going to look like when she matured. When I was a kid, Estella's hair was as short as Jessie was being forced to keep hers to fall within military guidelines, if not shorter; now it was long enough to fall past her shoulders freely with gentle waves in them. Both mother and daughter shared the same ferociously green eyes that captivated many.

And this time was no exception.

Estella looked me over before wrapping her arms around me and hugging me tight. I returned the embrace.

"How have you been, Jonny?" she asked softly. "Are you sleeping? Eating?"

We parted and I sheepishly looked down at Dad's polished tongue-and-groove hardwood floor.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Estella," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck. "In answer to your question: I try to when I can, though sleep has been hard to get lately."

"I wanted to see Jessie before her next deployment. But that's beside the point," Estella said, putting her hands on my shoulders. "Jonny, you know you can come to me if you need to. We all love you and we're all worried about you."

"I know."

She gave a halfway smile and kissed me gently on the cheek before asking, "Everyone's out back on the deck. Why don't you join them?"

"I might… I just need a minute."

"I understand."

Estella stepped aside and allowed me entry into Dad's house. My father's new house was very quaint given the ungodly amounts of money he had at his disposal. White trim with large baseboards and a cream-colored paint with a soft hint of light green composed the walls that weren't obscured by decorative paintings, family portraits, and shelves. Elegant ceiling fans were situated in each room to help circulate air—my dad, like me, was hot natured—while the many latticed windows offered many views into the outside world. I walked through the living room and into the kitchen area. Hadji, wearing a loose navy blue dress shirt and blue jeans, was raiding the refrigerator; everyone else was past the patio door out on the deck. Sensing my presence, he stepped back and looked at me.

"I've heard you had one, as they say, 'fan-fucking-tastic' week, my brother," Hadji said with a soft grin.

He tossed me a bottle of Killian's lager. I walked over to the rectangular kitchen table and took a seat.

"You're telling me," I said, twisting the cap off and taking a large gulp. "I hope yours has been better."

Hadji walked over with his respective bottle and sat adjacent to me. After following suit, he replied, "I've been showing Melana around and introducing her to our friends. She really likes it here and has been anxious to meet you."

"Not anxious enough to stick around, I see."

Hadji laughed.

"She's outside with the others," he said. "I told her it would be wise if I served as a buffer first in order to allow you to collect your thoughts before a proper introduction."

"Oh? You afraid I'm going to say something stupid?"

"You said it, not me."

I smirked and drank some more beer.

"How is your case going? Is there anything I can do to be of assistance?" Hadji asked.

"You can back me up on something, yes," I said. "I need to ask Dad for the deed to Mom's plot and to sign a petition for exhumation. I also want her Social Security number to go on what you suggested the other night."

"A credit check?"

"Yeah."

Hadji nodded in agreement. We ended up discussing how I attempted to have Garry Barber investigated and how a roadblock kept appearing at every turn. I explained that I was afraid to start digging into Dr. Earley's personal profile for fear of retaliation or attracting the wrong crowd. He listened in absolute awe at the events that transpired involving Reno, the rescuing of Gwen, and the accompaniment of Julia. Two more beers later, I had laid it all out bare for him. Hadji shook his head in near-disbelief.

"I am amazed, old friend," he said with a heavy sigh. "That even this adventure hasn't claimed you, at least, not yet. That being said: I am more worried than ever for your wellbeing."

"Thanks, Hadji," I replied with a sad appreciation. "By the way… I don't know if it means anything, but I figured maybe you could provide some insight into something…"

"Of course. What is it?"

I explained to Hadji about my recurring dreams with Jessie and the subconscious message I was telling myself through her. Hadji listened intently before resting back into his chair. After a few moments of pondering, he said, "May I ask why you seem afraid of reexamining that incident?"

"Come on, Hadji," I protested. "You know what that did to me; I'm already walking a very thin line of stability at the moment."

"While that may be true, my brother, something inside of you feels that there is a piece missing from that fateful evening."

I downed another beer and asked, "Such as?"

Hadji asked using hand motions like he was in the classroom: "Where was Mrs. Mullinax going in such a hurry? Why did she deem it necessary to attempt to kill her children? What exactly was she trying to get away from? Have you reviewed the case file for it?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "I haven't even bothered looking for it. Chances are, though, from what I've learned, it may be buried."

"Buried?"

"Someone has been cleaning out case files at work," I explained. "The Sheriff thinks he might be on the docket for an unexpected vacation, too; he gave me a piece of paper with some coordinates to an island off the coast inside the inlet. Chances are, it might be that particular case file…"

"Why would he bury it?" Hadji asked.

"It may or may not be underground, but in any case, inside that case file is not only all the notes, reports, interviews, and transcripts, but also the tape from my dashboard camera that night."

"I see."

"Hadji, listen: I don't know what these people want with me, or us, or the whole fucking family, but whatever it is, they want me alive. For the rest of you, I'm not so sure. I'm meeting a woman tomorrow at Mom's graveside that might hold some answers."

"Is that what the paperwork is for?" Hadji asked. "What role does she play in this?"

I rolled the empty beer bottle around in my hands as I explained: "I called Lori, Wade's wife, to see how he's doing before coming over. I asked her if she knew who the lady—Karla Wells, her name—was that Wade left a note for. Hadji, I shit you not: the woman is Lori's sister; she and her husband are the goddamn cemetery caretakers. I don't know about you, but I don't fucking believe in coincidences."

"I don't either, Jonny," he said. "How is Wade?"

"Still heavily medicated. Lori says he's in so much pain that she fights hard to keep it together. I won't be able to talk to him until at least next week."

Hadji motioned with his eyes towards the patio. The group was starting to migrate into the kitchen.

"After dinner," I said.

Hadji nodded, replying, "After dinner."

I adjusted my holster hiding underneath my shirt and stood up. I had an appetite to quell before I could gather any more information.


	50. Forty-Eight

"It sounds like you're having quite a week," Elena said sympathetically.

Her silver hair had grown long enough to be put into a French braid that stopped in the middle of her back. Wearing a black pleated cardigan sweater over a white blouse, she, along with Estella and Hadji's girlfriend Melana, had prepared the evening main course: roasted chicken Marsala. Dad and Race had prepared the side dishes and dessert while Melissa brought wine and liquors to enjoy. Sitting in Dad's formal dining room at the extended rectangular birch table, I was situated in the center with my back facing the living room; Melissa was to my right while Hadji occupied my left. Across from me sat Elena flanked by Melana and Jessie. Estella sat at one end while Dad sat at the other. Race, under much objection from the group, was patrolling the grounds while we ate to ensure that nobody would try anything cute; "I'll eat after everyone else," he argued. "It'll be safer this way."

"Yeah," I replied to Elena with a slight hint of aggravation in my voice. "Do you know the whole story?"

"Your father and Race have tried to explain it to me the best they can… I understand it's quite complicated."

I glanced at Dad: he kept his eyes focused on his plate. I snuck a peek at Jessie who was beginning to raise her eyes. I gave her a "zip it" expression.

Either in an attempt to try and shift gears or out of morbid curiosity, Melana asked in a thick Grecian accent, "How long have you been a police officer?"

I took a sip of wine and answered, "Five years. I've been a detective for the past two."

"That is impressive," she said with a warm smile. "Do officers normally advance this quickly?"

"It depends. In my case, the county was desperately understaffed."

"I see."

"What's been your hardest case so far, prior to this mess?" Jessie chimed in.

Uh oh.

I finished the rest of my wine and asked for a double scotch on the rocks. Elena rose from the table and went to prepare my drink. When she returned, I took a large sip and nestled in my chair.

"Four months after I was promoted to detective, I was manning the night shift," I said, starting my tale.

I remembered that night because it was unusually warm even though we were in the middle of summer; I think it was July, but I could be mistaken. Night shift detectives usually listened for any calls from any city police departments that needed an investigator if none were available or if services were provided by the county. I was four hours into my shift—seven o'clock in the evening until seven o'clock the next morning—when my desk phone rang. The caller was Mike Frazier, the police chief for the town of Thomaston. Mike explained that a domestic dispute call had been reported but his only patrolman on duty at the time was tied up with a drunk driver on the other side of town heading towards Rockland. Thomaston was four miles southwest of the office and would only take eight minutes, four if I was responding code three, to respond.

"On my way," I told him.

I put on my suit jacket and grabbed a portable radio on the way out the door. I radioed dispatch and informed them that I was going to be 10-6—busy and to hold traffic unless urgent—until further notice. I got in the department car and floored it out of the parking lot, light bars and siren active. Domestic disputes were tricky situations that normally resulted in "he-said-she-said" matters; it was the ones that were more than that which worried me. I prayed that I wouldn't be arriving to the scene of a homicide.

The address I was given was a house off Thatcher Street which, in turn, was immediately off the highway into town. With tires squealing at my loud turn, I killed the siren but kept my light bars mounted inside the car active. Pulling into the driveway of the address, I could tell this was going to be bad. A solitary oak tree stood in the yard near the property line of the road while a large pile of refuse made its home in the back corner of the lot. The house couldn't be bigger than twelve-hundred square feet; it was a single-story, vinyl sided domicile that had obviously seen better days. The front door faced the road and was wide open except for the storm door. Light from the living room spilled out onto the front yard where two adults were standing not far from the creaky wooden steps leading up to the entrance.

I put the car in park and radioed dispatch to give an update. Chief Frazier came over the air and advised me that his officer was wrapping up his arrest and would be available for backup if needed. I acknowledged the request and got out of the car, flashlight in hand.

The male subject was about my height and probably a hundred pounds heavier. His warm brown hair donned a fade style which suited his boyish face well. The female had long layered black hair that was parted at her bangs. I identified myself before shining my flashlight upon them: both displayed signs of assault with markings, small cuts, and swelling.

"What's going on here tonight?" I asked.

The male started to explain in a rather heated tone: "This stupid cunt's fucking—"

He was immediately interrupted by the female. She began to accuse him of a severe case of utter bullshit and threatened to throw what little belongings he had acquired in life out the back door into the garbage pile. I yelled at them both to shut up and listen to me.

"Now that I have your attention," I said. "We're going to do this one at a time. If I get interrupted one more time, I'm going to haul both of you to jail because I don't have time to deal with this tonight. Let's start with you. Ma'am, go stand over there please until I'm done."

"Fine…" the woman muttered before storming off to the edge of the property. Satisfied, I turned back to the man and began to gather personal information about him to file my report. He handed over his license which I radioed in: he was clean. With that detail out of the way I decided to get down to brass tacks.

"My wife over there has an eleven year-old son that lives with us," he explained. "We have a daughter together who's four years younger. Stephen—her son—has been showing his ass now that he's become a teenager and is doing stupid shit like yelling at Karen and stealing her lunch money. I try to punish the little asshole and she…"

The man turned and pointed to his wife.

"…claims that it's a shitload of fuck and that I'm making all of this up."

"I noticed you don't refer to Stephen as your stepson; do you not like the boy?" I asked.

"If I can be honest, Detective, I wish the little cum stain would live with his grandparents."

"There's no father?"

He shook his head, saying, "No. I tried my best to take care of them both but he's been like this as long as I can remember. I don't know what the hell I ever did to him."

"I don't know either, sir," I said. "So what happened tonight that was different? Who made the call?"

The man took a deep breath and explained: "Stephen and I got into a shouting match and I slapped him. Then she comes in and starts busting my balls, yelling and screaming how I'm never to touch her son like that ever again and whatnot, before attacking me. I guess he took the opportunity to call 911."

"Okay, that's all I need from you for now. I'm going to speak to your wife now."

The subject stepped aside while I looked up for my next interviewee: she was nowhere to be found.

"Can you please go in and ask your wife to come back out?" I asked.

The man agreed and walked up the steps and into the house. Roughly three seconds after that the door opens but, instead of a fully-grown adult woman, an eleven year-old boy came out. Dressed in shirt depicting the local high school football team and gym shorts, he approached me quickly.

"Are you a police officer?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes, I am," I answered. "You must be Stephen."

I shined my flashlight onto the boy. He strongly favored his mother—a trait that I shared with my own—and looked to be small enough to be lifted up over my head with ease. One startling detail that immediately caught my attention was the black eye surrounding his left optic nerve. The swelling on his face indicated that wasn't the only punch he received.

"Who did this to you?" I asked firmly.

"You've got to help me," he pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes. "He's… he's touching my sister."

"Is that who did this to you? Your stepfather?"

"Please…!"

Stephen's stepfather opened the storm door so hard it nearly came off its hinges. He screamed at the boy who immediately sought refuge behind me. I radioed for backup, code three. I immediately took out my gun and took a defensive stance. Upon seeing my firearm, the suspect turned heel and ran deeper into the house. I ran after him, tearing through the front door. I chased him through a narrow hallway before he tried to slam the master bedroom door on me. With a hard shoulder thrust, the flimsy wooden barricade came down, knocking the man into a chest of drawers. I flipped him over and handcuffed him, informing him of his rights on our way to my cruiser. The mother was sitting in the living room with her two children crying. As my prisoner and I walked down the steps, Thomaston police officer Joel Osteen arrived on the scene. I asked Joel to radio an ambulance and counselor; I would take care of the slap-happy stepfather.

Once I secured the prisoner for transport, I dropped into the driver seat.

"I'm going to kill that motherfucker," the man said with a growl from the backseat.

I turned around in my seat and looked at him, almost unsure of how serious I should gauge his thread, and asked, "You sure about that?"

He gave me a look people with nothing left to lose give. Being accused of child molestation carries a very large stigma with it, especially in the prison population. Given that this guy wasn't trying to proclaim innocence meant that there was evidence that would speak for itself.

And speak for itself it did.

Upon further inspection of the house, I uncovered numerous shoeboxes of pedophilic material. Entire DVDs of underage sex of both homo-and-heterosexual nature were found. Some of the videos featured the stepfather. Chat logs pulled from his computer revealed online encounters with minors involving inappropriate content and meetups. The wife broke down and admitted she knew about this but was unable to report it for fear of her children's wellbeing. The night of the call she discovered that their own daughter was now being used sexually after Stephen inadvertently walked in on the act, confirming his suspicions. Even at eleven years old, the child was far from stupid.

A trial date was set. Evidence and testimony was gathered. Everything seemed open-and-shut.

Eight months passed. The trial date was approaching fast.

It was a Friday evening when I got a call from Chief Frazier. This was highly unusual so I immediately knew no good was going to come from it.

"Jonny, it's Mike Frazier," he said when I came on the line. "We've got a big problem."

"What is it?" I asked.

Chief Frazier explained that the stepfather had been taken to Pen Bay Medical Center. There, he managed to slip out and hop a ride with a getaway driver. It had been ten minutes since his escape; an all-points bulletin—APB for short—had been issued. I asked where the mother and children were living at. Chief Frazier said they had relocated to the outskirts of town near the Mill River into a small two-bedroom house. He gave me the address and requested that I do a welfare check to make sure everyone was still in one piece as it was unknown whether the stepfather knew of their new residence.

As before, I raced to their new address. Thankfully, everyone was home and very much alive. The mother had obtained a concealed-carry permit and was now an experienced shooter. I gave her my business card and instructed her to report anything suspicious as well as keep her guard up.

Three days passed and the dragnet continued. The getaway car was located abandoned near Chickawaukie Pond. This gave me hope that the suspect was conducting his search away from where his intended targets lived. Reviewing hospital surveillance footage of the outside, it was discovered that the brother of the suspect was the driver. Unfortunately, his whereabouts were also unknown. Early Tuesday morning at about two o'clock I received a phone call at home.

"He found them," was all Chief Frazier said before hanging up.

I got dressed and drove to the address. Wade was standing on the front porch talking to a uniformed deputy when I approached. He put his hand out and held me back for a moment.

"Jonny, I don't—"

"Let me through, Wade," I said firmly.

He took his hand off me and stepped aside. I walked into the crime scene amidst a thick odor of blood and gunshot residue. The front door had been kicked in. I turned around and counted three bloody bullet holes in the wall: return fire from the victim, who was lying face-up on the living room floor. Below the holes on the floor behind the recliner was the stepfather. I turned back to the wife and noticed a gaping hole in her abdomen right below her diaphragm.

Wade must've noticed my curious look.

"He used slug shot," he said from the porch. "Twelve-gauge."

I took a few steps forward and around the body. In the corner of the room at the intersection of the kitchen and hallway, slumped over to one side, was eleven year-old Stephen. In his right hand was a black and gray FN FNP-9 forty-caliber semiautomatic handgun. I knelt down on one knee and closed his eye on what skull was left.

I stood up and walked back out onto the porch.

"Where's the girl?" I asked.

"EMT took her," Wade said. "She was the one who called. She saw the whole thing… my God…"

"Why didn't he kill her?"

"Probably because he still loved his daughter. That, or her brother died protecting her."

I left the front porch, the cold morning air, the tragedy that was laid out before me, and returned to my father's dining room. Everyone was stone silent.

"That truly is a tough case, Son," Dad finally said.

I nodded, "Yeah…"

"Whatever happened to the little girl and her uncle?" Jessie asked.

"The uncle hung himself," I said. "As far as the girl… I really couldn't tell you. I hope she's okay wherever she is."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"So… what's for dessert? If these fuckers intend on killing me, they're going to have to wait until I get something sweet."

"I'll get you a plate," Estella said with a sly smile.


	51. Forty-Nine

"What are you hoping to find by opening your mother's casket?" Dad asked crossly, folding his arms across his chest. "Son, you were there when she was buried, for Christ's sake."

He was wearing a solid red sweater vest over a white dress shirt and khakis. My father always dressed like he was either a college professor—which he was—or an assistant manager at J.C. Penny. His dark stubble gave hints that chances were he was too much of a wreck to shave. Standing there in my father's study with another glass of scotch, it was painfully obvious that getting his permission was not going to be easy.

I took another large sip and replied, "This is the only way that I can tell, Dad. I mean, holy shit, maybe you haven't noticed that a lot of hell has broken loose this week?"

"I understand that, Jonathan, but this is not something that I feel is necessary—who's to say that this isn't some impulse decision?"

"Father, if I may," Hadji said, stepping up to stand beside me. "I do not think Jonny is making a rash decision; I do feel he has reason to believe that there is some sort of conspiracy involving Mother."

"Just because someone is tossing around her name doesn't mean that she's alive, Son. In any case…"

Dad turned back to face me.

"What are you going to do when you exhume her and find that she's still there?" he asked. "Tell her you're sorry and that you'll call ahead next time?"

I drank the rest of my alcohol.

"Alright then," I said. "Why don't you tell me how far back you and Thomas Earley go back? Why don't you start explaining why random people are coming to this corner of the planet where absolute jack _shit_ is located and starts shooting up people? Why don't you go tell Wade's goddamn wife Lori that the only thing standing between me and doing my fucking job is you? Why don't you go and do that?"

Dad put his hands up, trying to diffuse the situation: "Jonathan, I didn't mean it like that…"

"Fuck, yes you did!" I shouted. "You said yesterday you wanted to help me any way you can, and this is how you can do it."

I stepped forward boldly.

I warned, "If you don't… I'll arrest you for obstruction."

My father and Hadji both looked at me in utter shock.

Finally, Dad spoke warily: "Y-you don't mean that, Jonny; you're drunk."

"The hell I don't," I retorted, slamming my glass down on a nearby shelf. "I don't give a rat's ass if you're in bed with the DA all the way up to the motherfucking Supreme Court of the United States. I want answers and I want them _now_."

Dad stared blankly at me. Seconds felt like hours.

"Hadji, leave the room," Dad murmured sternly.

Hadji looked at me and then back at Dad, asking, "Father…?"

" _Do it_."

Hadji took one last look at me before sighing heavily and retreating to the rest of the house. Dad took his cane and slowly made his way around the polished desk to his executive red leather chair. He sat down and pulled out a fountain pen.

"I received an overnight letter four months ago," Dad said, motioning for the exhumation affidavit. "About the results of an election."

"What election?" I asked.

"It's… rather hard to explain—Thom would be a better candidate than I am in explaining how the hierarchy works—but, in essence, think of an obscure version of the United Nations. I'm sure you've heard conspiracy theories about the Illuminati, Skull and Bones, that sort of thing?"

I nodded.

"Let's just say there's more to it than what the average YouTube content creator can cram into a video. It is as Thom described it: that is, the magic behind the scenes that keeps this insane planet together."

He handed the affidavit back to me; I slid it into my pants pocket.

I asked, "What did the letter say?"

Dad stared off into the horizon as he said, "It said that I had been re-elected to my sector, but there was a problem: first, the only way an election would ever come about would be if someone motioned for a recall election and it passed an initial vote. This was never brought to my attention that such an event had occurred: I suppose that's why Thom called it something that shouldn't have taken place. The second problem was who made the motion: Judith Waterston."

"Is that my mother's real name?"

Dad shook his head silently.

"No, Jonny, no," he sighed. "Your grandfather had a terrible secret."

"I imagine he was also a member of this organization?"

"More than that, Son; the Wildey's family tree stretches back to medieval times. They were one of the founding members of this group at the height of the British Empire."

I took a seat in a nearby armchair and rubbed my face.

Dad took a deep breath and said, "Judith Waterston… she's your mother's twin sister."

I let that sink in silently for a few minutes.

Eventually, I asked, "Why doesn't she share the family name?"

"She was institutionalized at the age of five."

"Why?"

"She took your grandfather's gun—the very same one you carry with you—and killed the neighbor by shooting him in the back of the head. He was five. She knew where it was hidden without being shown, she knew how to load it, chamber it, and effectively execute someone. She then executed four of her father's cows before her mother found her."

I felt like throwing up at this point.

"Why did she do that?" I asked, instantly regretting that I did.

"She didn't have a reason," Dad replied grimly. "Instead, she laughed about it. Not once did she feel remorse. They gave her a new name to protect her identity as a kid as the Wildey's were well-known. Unfortunately, her notoriety didn't stop there on your grandfather's ranch. She ended up killing two patients at the psychiatric hospital where she was receiving treatment. If I recall correctly, your mother said that Judith killed one girl for smarting off to her with her bare hands; the other was a teenage boy. She killed him by drowning him in the bathroom sink."

"Jesus…"

"I know, I agree."

"Anything else about the letter you can tell me?"

Dad looked down at his desk, saying, "Just one…"

I looked at him.

"The letter had your mother's signature. It wasn't computer-generated, it wasn't stamped, it was real pen-to-paper. That's why… that's why I'm uneasy about you exhuming her grave."

Dad looked back up at me, his face pale.

"I don't know who's buried there, Jonny. What if… what if your mother still is alive?"

"If she is," I said. "I better get to her first before Judith does. The question remains, though: what the hell do I have to do with all of this? What is this mind-control scheme that is going on?"

"I'm afraid Thom will have to explain that to you, Son. Speaking of which, I told him you want to talk. He said to call tomorrow and that you would know the time."

I nodded and stood up. As I slowly made my way to the door, Dad called my name. I turned around to face him, still sitting behind the desk.

He sighed, saying, "I'm sorry about this, Jonny, I really am. If I was younger…"

"It's okay, Dad," I replied. "I don't think this is something you would want to participate in. Given the choice, I would hang up my gun and drive until I ran out of gas. Unfortunately, it seems that is a lot harder than it sounds."

"Just promise me one thing: don't be so hard on yourself for doing your job."

"You mean the shooting?"

"I mean people getting hurt in the process. Jonny, that's an inevitable circumstance that cannot be helped, especially in your line of work."

"Maybe, maybe not," I contested. "But at the end of the day, it's their blood on my hands regardless. I swore to protect and serve the community, to uphold our laws, and to uphold the Constitution of the United States of America. So far, my community is going to hell, laws are being thrown out the window, and I just learned that the piece of parchment in Washington that dictates our country's rule-of-thumb is more of a symbolic gesture and might as well be used as goddamned toilet paper."

Dad didn't say anything. I didn't expect him to.

Wherever Aunt Judith was, I prayed that she wouldn't cross paths with me in the event that what my father was told was indeed factual and she was behind this parade of death.

For her sake.


	52. Fifty

I drove back to my house alone. I wanted Melissa to stay and socialize on my behalf—I was fighting hard to maintain some sort of normalcy in her life as mine just kept getting more fucked up by the minute—and requested Hadji drop her and Jessie off later. I asked Jessie to stay with us in order to protect Melissa in the event that I was incapacitated; Race overheard while he was eating and nearly choked. Before he could voice his strong opposition Jessie reminded him that she had been to areas where improvised explosive devices were planted every ten feet and the native local law enforcement would randomly open fire on allied troops indiscriminately. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

I received a text message as I pulled into the driveway. From an unknown number, the message "CHECK THE NEWS" flashed across the display of my phone.

"Wonderful," I muttered.

I gathered up the papers from Dad's. I had managed to slip back into his office when the family made its way onto the back deck overlooking the water under the guise of having to take a leak, which was partially true. I found the floor safe underneath the desk and, after three failed attempts, managed to figure out the key code combination—my father was a creature of habit—allowing access to what I desperately desired: my mother's Social Security card. As I began to leave his office, I noticed my high school senior yearbook sitting on the shelf amongst other memorabilia from my younger years. I don't know what compelled me to take it; however, my years as an officer taught me to always go with my instinct. I hid the items near the entrance and snatched them up on my way out.

I parked in the garage and made my way inside the house. After a quick sweep to ensure that I was alone, I looked at my home phone. The liquid crystal display stated that there were fifteen missed calls and three voicemails. I picked up the wireless handset and dialed into my mailbox.

"Jonny," said Billy's breathless voice over the receiver. "I… I'm in trouble, man: they found out. They found out… I don't know how, but you probably know everything now… look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier… I…"

His call was cutoff. Fear gripped me as I slowly walked over to the dining room table and sat down.

The next message played. It was Billy again.

"I'm driving down there Jonny… Don't know if I'll get there… he's after me. Son-of-a-bitch set me up… listen, if I don't make it, don't trust anybody; in fact, don't even trust me. They might have control, I don't know. Don't trust Earley."

He hung up immediately after that. The last message played. This time, it was Wade's wife, Lori.

"Jonny?" she asked. "I don't know why but when I checked our account this morning there was a wire transfer of a large sum of money into checking. It had a memo, too: 'we'll take care of you.' Do you know anything about this? Give me a call when you can, please."

I was quite familiar with the aspect of "hush money" as Quest Enterprises had to invoke it on many occasions, some that I wish I didn't know about. I decided to first call up my personal oracle.

Steve answered on the first ring: "Yes?"

"You at the house?" I asked.

"Affirmative. Gwyn and Julia are in Vinalhaven."

"Good," I replied, walking to the living room. "Question: do you know why Billy Beam would call me and say that he's been discovered and in fear of his life?"

"Have you watched the news?"

"That wasn't you who sent that text?"

"So you got it, too, huh?" Steve asked.

I sat down in my easy chair and picked up the remote control. Turning on the television, I tuned into the local Fox affiliate, WPFO. The ten o'clock news was just then starting to come on. Steve waited patiently while I listened to the two on-air anchors discuss the discovery of an abandoned Maine State Police cruiser outside of Belfast, roughly twenty-six miles north of Rockland.

I sighed deeply.

"They didn't notice any signs of a struggle or bullet holes," Steve said. "I think Billy may have been tailed and he got wind of them. He probably dropped it and ran."

I asked, "So now what?"

"Survive," he said austerely. "Earley is up to something and I don't know what yet."

"Well, I did get a call from Wade's wife saying that someone dropped a very large deposit into their account; memo on it said 'we'll take care of you.' Any ideas?"

I could hear Steve hum in thought.

"Could be Earley, I'm not sure. He' protecting somebody."

"Wouldn't be Judith Waterston, would it?" I pressed.

"What did your father say about her?"

I explained what information I was able to squeeze out of my father.

"I see," Steve said. "In answer to your question, I can't think of a reason why he would. Not unless she has something that he wants, and before you ask: no, I don't know what that could be."

I grumbled, "Fair enough. Just one question, though…"

"What is it?"

"What do we do if we open Mom's casket tomorrow and there's a body inside?"

Steve became slightly incensed, asking, "How can you be so sure of that?"

"Just answer the damn question."

"Well, first of all, we would have to determine if it's your mother's. Secondly, in the event it was, we would put it back where it belongs: six feet under. Lastly, we go back to one of the key locations in this mystery: the bookstore."

"What's at the bookstore?" I asked.

"Mike Slagle is going to show us—I think I know how to get him to respond."

"Respond?"

"You'll see."

"Alright. What about if the coffin's empty?"

I could hear Steve take a drink of some beverage before responding.

"Same thing with one minor adjustment," he said. "We put Judith Waterston in it and throw it into a trash compactor."


	53. Fifty-One

Something was amiss with my yearbook.

Numerous pages had been blatantly ripped from the spine. Amongst the other class notes from my friends, there were other notes in my father's handwriting. Some of them were simply the letter "K" circled or an "L"; others were marked with a single strike of a red pen. I turned over to my senior portrait and noticed that my subtlety handsome face had been left untouched. I thumbed through the pages: most missing articles were from the faculty section although a few others were removed in later parts.

Someone didn't want to be noticed, apparently.

I set the yearbook on the edge of the end table next to my armchair. I drank some of my Pepsi and continued browsing on my laptop, reading about the book _I, Claudius_. After a quick Google search and some Wikipedia scraping, I managed to determine the underlying plot: the fourth emperor of Rome, Claudius, was thrust into the limelight thanks to his installment as emperor at the ripe age of forty-nine. Prior to that, Claudius was shuffled about behind the scenes by his family due to some of his less-than-flattering literary historical works that were relentlessly critical in truth of the reigning emperor, Augustus. The book, written from Claudius' viewpoint by Robert Graves, sees Claudius installed by mere victim of circumstance after witnessing the current head-of-state Caligula, including his wife and daughter, offed by Praetorian Guard Cassius Chaerea. Claudius is discovered by another disgruntled guard and, after a brief meeting of the minds, the others decide to put Claudius in place to prevent a power vacuum. Claudius didn't want this job—probably because of the whole "good chance of getting fucking stabbed" part in the job description—but decides to take the post anyway with the hope that maybe now the populace will get to read his once censored literary works.

I downed the rest of my soda. I wasn't about to rule out the possibility of me being used as a tool in a massive power play for this "club" that my father, Dr. Earley, and apparently my mother and aunt were a part of. I sighed and loaded up the surveillance video from the bookstore again. I hadn't paid attention to the audio before, instead opting to focus on the participants involved. I turned up my laptop's speakers and watched.

Lorenzo held the door for Pam Hoyle as she entered the bookstore. They both approached the counter. Laura, the co-owner of the bookstore, was behind the counter.

Lorenzo said something that caught me off guard.

I replayed the segment.

"Satan is trying to tell you God is not real, but He is," he said.

Pam nodded in agreement and added, "Don't be tricked; save your soul today."

"I'm listening," Laura said in a firm tone. I couldn't see her face as the camera was pointed outwards towards the store area and not the cash register. It made more sense to record your customers than who was working the till, at least in this instance.

"We need the book for DR-128," Pam said. "Do you have it?"

Laura disappeared into the backroom and reappeared shortly after. She handed over the novel, _Night Chills_ , to Pam. Lorenzo handed over a wad of bills.

Pam quickly thumbed through the book before looking up and saying, "If he asks, you sold it to me. Repeat."

"If DR-128 asks, I sold it to you," Laura stated.

"And what is my name?"

"Pamela Hoyle. You grew up with my daughter. You…"

"End," Pam said after motioning Lorenzo to step outside. "Thank you for the book, Laura; I was searching all over for it."

Laura's voice brightened as she replied, "You're quite welcome, sweetheart. Please… be careful out there."

With a sad smile, Pam gave a simple nod before turning and heading for the exit.

Was DR-128 me? What did the moniker stand for?

I put my laptop away and went to the bedroom. I reached underneath the bed and pulled out my beaten M2A1 fifty-caliber ammunition box. Dark green paint with faded yellow lettering on the side, the box was a gift from my paternal grandfather, a second World War and Korean veteran. The single large latch on the side pulled up with some effort with the lid. I dumped the contents of the box out across the bed and began to conduct an inventory.

I picked up a picture of Bandit from my younger days. I adopted him after Mom died—in a sense—and lived a happy life until it was cut short when I was fifteen. Someone at school had it out for me and decided to take it to a real personal level by poisoning my dog. Even though the house that we rented while Dad's house was being built had no security, the moron never considered the fact that I had trouble sleeping. Three months passed before I disconnected his brake lines in his new car to celebrate his sixteenth birthday. Luckily for him, he survived: the metal utility pole and brick wall were another story. Thank God it was only 1998 then; if done today, I would've probably drowned myself in whiny YouTube videos.

I glossed over a few pictures of me and Hadji taken over the years. When I got to Jessie, I stopped and examined each one more carefully. I thought about my time in the hospital and what happened…

What did happen? I shook my head and tried to remember. It took a moment before I remembered her affair with the teacher and the scandal that broke. Surprisingly, there weren't any articles about it in my box. Even more surprising, I was having a conflicting feeling every time I looked at her pictures. She was beautiful, no doubt, but there was something there that just wasn't quite right…

I moved on to my other items, reminiscing over memories made with Melissa, becoming a police officer. The last item was a picture of Mom, a full eight-by-ten portrait similar to that I first found. Mom had the allure of Debbie Gibson with the gracefulness of Cybill Shepherd. The portrait studio imprint in the bottom corner indicated that the photo was taken in 1986; I would've been three. I held onto the photo and tried to imagine what she would be like. Would she be proud of my accomplishments? Would she be happy with what I had become?

What had I become? A hardened, badge-carrying killer, in some respects.

I leaned backwards onto the fluffy comforter and stared at the smooth ceiling overhead. The ceiling flan quietly circulated. I closed my eyes and honed in on the sound of the air moving around me.

"I love you," my mom, a figment of my own imagination, said gently. "Never forget… I'll always be your mother."


	54. Fifty-Two

I woke up almost as instantly as I had fallen asleep. I looked over at my alarm clock: it was almost two in the morning. I looked down and saw Melissa's arm across my chest and her head on my shoulder; my lockbox and its contents were not on the bed anymore. Melissa had changed into an old gym shirt and a pair of my boxers. Looking down the hallway I could see that the light in the living room was still on. I slowly slid off the bed and from underneath Melissa's loose grasp and stood up. I needed to get changed into my night clothes, anyway, and take my meds.

I took my shirt off and threw it into the laundry hamper on my way towards the living room. I stopped at the end of the hall and looked upon Jessie dressed in a black sports bra and shorts doing pushups. Facing away from me, she didn't know I was watching her. Finally, I spoke up, "Can't sleep?"

She stopped and looked back at me.

"Gotta stay in shape," she said with a half-smile. "Can I have something to drink?"

I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Wal-Mart's finest house-branded water. I returned to the living room and handed it to Jessie who was now sitting on the couch.

"Thanks," she said before taking a large gulp.

I sat down beside her and asked, "Do you always exercise at two in the morning?"

"Depends on what shift I'm working. What about you? You should be in bed: last I heard you were going to have a big day today."

"Yeah, about that," I said with a slight hint of dread. "I got a text tonight that said to watch the news. My mentor is on the run; he called and said not to trust him, Dr. Earley, pretty much anyone with a pulse. News report said they found his car abandoned outside of Belfast. Needless to say, I'm not surprised he was in on it, too."

Jessie nodded silently and continued drinking her water.

"And…"

I reached over to the end table and grabbed my yearbook.

"…this thing is missing some pages."

She gave me a baffled look before taking the book and flipping through it.

"Any ideas?" I asked.

Jessie shook her head.

She looked up at me: "I guess someone doesn't want to be noticed, right?"

"That's the same conclusion I came to. That, or it contained some important pieces of information. Can you see if you can dig up your yearbook at your dad's house?"

"Yeah."

I leaned back into the couch and started rubbing my face.

"I guess I should tell you," Jessie said solemnly. "Melissa broke down tonight after you left: she didn't want you to see her crack."

With much concern, I asked, "Why did she break down? What happened?"

"I don't think she's used to this sort of lifestyle, Jonny; to be honest, I never really got used to it, either."

"Well, Jess, to be honest: we're not exactly your average, run-of-the-mill-rag-tag gang of shenanigan-inducing adults. One of the reasons I became a police officer was to be grounded in something that didn't involve me charting off to the far reaches of the earth fighting God-knows-what."

"I know, I know," she said softly. "Makes you wonder why I joined the Marine Corps…"

Jessie gave me a look, indicating a prompt.

Slightly taken aback, I asked her, "What? You want me to take a guess?"

"You originally guessed it was to, and I quote, 'get away from the shit storm that I stirred up.' Now that we're both in more coherent, calmer moods, I'm curious."

"That's how most amateur videos on those adult websites start…"

"Jonny… be serious… I really want to know what you thought I joined the Marines for."

"It's what I said before," I said emphatically.

She titled her gaze slightly, asking, "Really? You really think it was to escape from… this?"

I nodded.

To my surprise, instead of exploding with anger and ripping my head off in order to use it as a bowling ball, Jessie simply smiled nonchalantly with a hint of mystique. She took a deep breath and exhaled.

"You're halfway right," she murmured.

"What?"

"You're halfway right," she repeated a little louder. "The other half… I was asked."

Now I was the one who was curious.

"Asked?" I questioned.

Jessie nodded, saying, "One of Dad's contacts happens to be one of the Commandant's staff; word is they want to create a special brigade of female combatants for MARSOC."

"MARSOC?"

"United States Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command."

"Sounds like a fun little group," I said. "Is that what you'll be doing when you get back to North Carolina?"

Jessie ran her hand through her hair, saying, "I think so; they've been rather tight-lipped about it. Ironically enough, when I was granted leave to come up here, my request had a note attached to it encouraging me to visit here."

"What a coincidence… It didn't say to throw me in the trunk bound and gagged, did it?"

"Now you're just being a smartass," she said, rolling her eyes. "For all we know, it means that I'm about to be entered into the program. I've been having to go through some very intense training over the past year since I returned from overseas. They say once you're in, expect to be cut off from your loved ones for a good while. Like I told you the other day at the office: I don't know when I'll be able to see you again."

I gave a soft smile.

"If it's any consolation," I said. "I'll keep you in my thoughts."

She smiled back, asking, "You already do—didn't you say you have erotic dreams about me?"

"Yeah… but also… about what I said the other day, the things that I said that made you upset…"

"Jonny, I don't…"

"I'm sorry," I interrupted. "I didn't mean to hurt you like that, Jessica, I'm just… just under a lot of pressure right now, trying not to die and all."

Jessie looked into my eyes silently for a few moments. Finally, after swallowing hard, she managed to respond: "…it's not your fault. It's…"

"It's not your fault either, Jess…"

Now her eyes started watering. She wrapped her arms around my neck and held on tightly, pressing her face underneath my chin. I slowly put my arms around her and returned the embrace. Minutes passed before Jessie slowly leaned back and looked at me once more, her face wet from crying. She softly caressed my cheek.

"I love you," she whispered.

Looking into her emerald gateway, I whispered back, "I love you too…"

Without regard, Jessie kissed me. When we parted, she kissed me once more on the cheek, whispered "Goodnight," and went to the guest bedroom. I continued to sit there in a mixed state of awe at what happened. This was shit that you only found in teenage romance novels.

It was going to be a long night.


	55. Fifty-Three

"Sorry to hear about your mom's identity theft problem, Jonny," my bank manager said over the phone. "You want me to bring you a full credit history over to the station or come by and pick it up?"

I replied, "I just need to know if there's anything on it; it should be completely empty, but you know how sneaky these asshats are these days."

"Tell me about it. Let's see…"

There was a slight pause.

"Huh," Robert, the bank manager, mused. "Equifax, TransUnion, all of them are reporting that that's an invalid number."

"Invalid?" I asked.

"Your dad should've been collecting her Social Security survivor benefits for you. But… as far as I can tell, the major bureaus don't think this is legitimate. I would check with the office over on Park Street."

"I will. Thanks, Robert."

"No problem, Jonny," Robert replied. "Let me know if I can be of any more help."

We said our goodbyes and I hung up, grimacing at the next piece of the puzzle. My day had already gotten off to a nerve-wrecking start: Pete had stopped me on my way in and handed me an all-points bulletin, better known as an APB. Billy's car had been searched and, wouldn't you know it, a severed body was in the trunk wrapped in numerous trash bags. The report stated that numerous gunshot wounds had been found in the chest area that matched a gun conveniently left behind in Billy's car and issued to him.

Whoever he pissed off, he pissed off something fierce.

I took a long sip of coffee and stared out the window. The average person would go straight to Earley, put a gun firmly into his testicles, and demand answers before they make a choir boy out of him. At least, that's what Melissa told me that morning. I told her it was never that simple: dealing with these freaks, these power-hungry cock gobblers, are never that easy. He had something I wanted and he knew it—if I threatened him or, worse, endangered him, then the chance of finding Mom, or the woman who was claiming to be her, would collapse in upon itself. I knew I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting an ace in the hole at the cemetery: if Mom was occupying it, then I wouldn't need Earley as much and he could be dealt with accordingly.

Maybe that wasn't his angle.

Maybe he knew something else that I wanted to know… something different.

The shooting. The Hoyle girls and their respective families. Barber, Wade, the whole goddamn conspiracy. I always figured that the world ran like a gigantic pissing contest but this… this was more than that. What if Earley was right? What if him and his ilk—Dad included—were the only things keeping the world from its pedestal much like a golf ball on its tee?

"Why me?" I muttered as a I took the last sip.

I left my cup on my desk and picked up my jacket. It was time to go pay a visit to the graveyard and see what wild and wacky adventures awaited me there. I told Brittany I would be 10-7—that is, unavailable—until further notice, but I would appreciate any local units on patrol in the area. Brittany said she would call the dispatch in Rockport and ask for some patrols around the area.

I went out to the car and climbed in. It was rather ironic, really, that given the idyllic atmosphere of our county that we would need so many burial plots. For the longest time, murder was not something that Knox county had to deal with on a regular basis. At least, on the surface; I came to realize that what the county officials cared to report for statistics were quite different than what actually happened. There was money to be made, especially in upper-class property taxes, like that which my father paid, that ensured the coffers would remain full and in turn lead to very comfortable government jobs.

As I pulled out of the parking lot as I had done so many times before, I called Steve.

Sounding slightly groggy, he finally answered, "…yeah?"

"Did I wake you up?" I asked.

"No, no… just waiting on this fucking ferry to get over here."

"You going to Vinalhaven?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "I couldn't get a rise out of anyone on the phone so I decided I better investigate. Where are you?"

"Headed to my mother's alleged grave to see if there's a vacancy."

"You sure that's safe?"

I turned onto Park Street.

"Not really," I said. "But I've got to get some answers; I imagine Earley is going to be playing hard to get."

"You'd be surprised… that asshole has a knack for showing up at the most unexpected places."

"You sound like you know from experience?"

"If only you knew," Steve sighed. "Alright, let me know what you find and I'll meet up with you afterwards."

We said our goodbyes and hung up. I dropped my phone into the cup holder and slowly made my way north. The burial ground, Glen Cove Cemetery, was located off of U.S. highway one on Waldo Avenue, then Warrenton Street. My paternal grandparents as well as my dad's uncles were interred there; it was a nice resting place surrounded by trees and quiet communities. I hoped that Karla would be out there waiting for me as I really had no intention for hide-and-go-seek today.

Ten minutes later I was pulling onto the dirt road that led to my mother's aisle. I could see an orange Kubota backhoe three headstones down from the large oak tree where I parked. A large pile of brown dirt was nearby indicating that I had arrived just in time for a good front row seat.

I made sure my gun was chambered as I got out of the car and began to walk towards the backhoe and its operator. The woman in the duct taped seat turned around and looked at me. For a moment, I thought it was the actress Brooke Elliott. Then reality reminded me that a Lifetime actress would have little use for digging up caskets on a cool New England morning.

Unless they were _filming_ a Lifetime movie, then that would make perfect sense.

I began to pull out my badge when she said, rather tersely, "I know who you are, Detective Quest."

She climbed off of the backhoe and approached.

"Karla?" I asked.

She was about Jessie's height of five-foot-seven with curves sharp enough to derail a freight train. With russet eyes, straight black hair that reached past her shoulders, and a hardened face that showed little empathy for those who wasted her time, Karla presented herself as a force to be reckoned with, but only by the brave… or stupid. Where I fell was beyond me. She dusted her hands on her tan coveralls and looked me over.

"You really are him," Karla said, seemingly satisfied. "Dr. Earley said you wouldn't be putting me through this bullshit if it wasn't important."

"You know Dr. Earley?" I asked, slightly taken aback.

"I know lots of people in this town—lots of them that I don't care to know—now if you don't mind, I would rather us stop dicking around and get this thing out of the ground."

I walked around to one side of the hole and looked down. Mom's mahogany casket, slightly muddied and understandably covered in dirt, sat patiently at the bottom. I turned to the caretaker.

"What do you need me to do? Doesn't your husband help?" I asked.

"Earley wanted to talk to him about something," she replied. "Yes, he's here, because I know that's the next question you're going to ask. You can pester him all to your little heart's content once we get this out. Here…"

She tossed me four heavy chains and a pair of coveralls.

"Hook these onto the railings on each side. They all connect in the center. I'll lower the bucket in there and you can hook it to that. Afterwards, I can pull it out. The coveralls are my husband's—they might be a little big but they'll keep you from getting too dirty."

I took off my coat and draped it on a nearby headstone. I put on the coveralls with little effort.

"I don't mean to sound insensitive," I said cautiously. "But what the hell crawled up your ass today? Is your menstrual cycle running a Tour de France or something?"

"I don't like it when that son-of-a-bitch comes around because when he does, it's usually for nothing good," Karla said indifferently.

"Understood."

I crawled down into the hole and did as I was instructed. Karla lowered the bucket to me, allowing me to attach the heavy metal hook onto it. After climbing out, caked in dirt, Karla began to slowly lift the intricate wooden body box. The casket scraped against the grave walls until it was finally clear of the hole. Setting it down next to the hole, Karla killed the backhoe.

"Got a crowbar?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Right here…"

She tossed me a bright yellow wrecking bar. Wedging it underneath the lid, I began to forcefully apply pressure. After loosening all the nails that kept it closed tight, I hooked the lid with the bar and yanked upwards, ripping it free. I dropped the yellow iron and placed both hands on the lid. I closed my eyes and slowly lifted the lid. It creaked loudly, reflecting years of moisture exposure and age. I stood there in silence for a moment, lost in darkness, unsure if I wanted to see what was inside or not. Karla didn't say a word.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I slowly opened my eyes and looked down.


	56. Fifty-Four

"I was afraid of that," Dr. Earley said as he peered into the casket.

I was sitting against a headstone nearby, desperately trying to make sense of it all: multiple cinderblocks neatly arranged to resemble a 140-pound adult woman. I looked up at him with a sinister expression and said, "I'm running out of reasons not to give you a forty-five caliber tracheostomy."

"I'm impressed you know what that is," he said without turning around. "Tell me, did you really think it would be this easy?"

I leapt to my feet and spun him around. Grabbing his blue silk tie, I gave it a hard pull to tighten the noose. In a hushed tone, I said, "Listen here you Billy Mays-looking motherfucker: I have put more people in the ground lately than the average of an entire police force for a large metropolitan city and here you are with the goddamned _audacity_ to treat me like a fucking moron."

I shoved him back into the coffin with my forearm across his neck.

"TELL ME WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT!" I screamed.

Earley picked up both feet and planted them in my lower abdomen with enough force to shove me off. As I stumbled backwards he grabbed my collar and slammed me face first into the wooden lid a few times before pulling my left arm behind me and towards my head.

"You want to know what this is about?!" he shouted. "It's about keeping the fucking planet from destroying itself! You little shits think you know it all, how to solve the population's problems, end world hunger, equality for all! You know what is?! That's all horseshit, Jonny!"

Dr. Earley stepped back and released his grip on me.

"People don't care about that as they only care about self-preservation, fulfilling their own needs so they can pat themselves on the back at the end of the day. Others, however, view this planet as their own personal goddamned sandbox. It's up to people like me, people like your father, and countless other, strive to keep in check. But right now, we need your help because we have a big problem that only a select few can solve."

I popped my shoulder back into place and faced him cautiously. Dr. Earley seemed genuinely anxious.

"I thought we could contain this without dragging you into it. I thought we could contain it before more people got involved."

"You honestly want me to believe that you people genuinely care about protecting the liberties of others? To keep this entire world from succumbing to some totalitarian hellhole? Who's to say it already hasn't?" I asked sharply.

I continued, "Corporations already dictate everything that ever goes on around here; we are merely slaves caught in a game of burgeoning class warfare. I don't know if you've noticed, but things aren't exactly getting better around here."

"I don't give a flying fuck about what you or anyone else perceive as the world around them," Earley said adamantly. "What I do give a fuck about is dragging more dipshits like Alejandro and Horacek into the mix. They can derail shit. They _have_ derailed shit. They become liabilities. You, yourself, are a liability. But you're also one of the key players we need to stop this."

"So some lunatic relative of mine is on the loose and my mother is MIA," I snapped in return. "Just give me my mother and let me go the hell home, back to the life I was trying to build for myself. I'm already going to have every single news network and conspiracy theory website out there crawling up my ass speculating on why suddenly some crazy motherfuckers show up in a town whose racial demographics resemble that of your neighborhood Starbucks."

"Bullshit… you want to know what happened."

"Excuse me?"

Dr. Earley reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a stogie. With the flip of a Zippo lighter, a small cloud of smoke floated into the air as the good doctor made himself comfortable against the casket.

"That night when you pulled over a green Oldsmobile; you go through the motions of it all the time trying to make sense of why a woman who apparently had the perfect family, perfect life, would just wake up one day, shoot her husband, load up the car with her two kids and enough gasoline to start her own Texaco, and then bait a police officer into suicide-by-cop while torching the vehicle. Tell me: why didn't she kill Gwyn when she had the chance if the other child was already dead? Why did she bother going to all this trouble at all?"

"What are you getting at?" I demanded.

Earley gave me a cold stare and said, "What I am getting at, Jonny, is that it doesn't make a damn bit of sense to you either, but every record, detail, and account of that night is muddled. You started looking for the reports and the dashboard camera video which are mysteriously missing. The responding officer is currently missing and there was a body found in his trunk. The investigating detective was consumed in a fireball by a man whose behavior could only be described as out of the ordinary."

I remained silent.

Finally, I asked, "And Dad?"

"He doesn't know all the details. All that they were willing to tell him was that if he pressed the matter further, he would regret it severely."

"Do you know what happened?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," Earley said flatly.

Just then, his cell phone rang. Reaching into another pocket of his coat, he pulled out an iPhone and answered. After a few moments of mumbled dialogue, an excited "What?!" was emitted. More mumbled dialogue occurred before the call was ended.

Dr. Earley turned to me and said, "You're about to get a phone call from an unknown number: answer it."

Sure enough, three seconds later my phone started ringing. The caller ID displayed "UNKNOWN." I flipped it open and greeted, "Hello?"

Reno's eerie robotic voice came over the line: "Meet me at the lighthouse: they're looking for you. We do not have much time."

Before I could respond, the call disconnected.

"You better get going," Dr. Earley said. "There's no telling how long it will take them to check here."

"But…"

A small barrage of bullets hit the coffin and surrounding headstones. Earley and I dove for the ground.

"I'll try to hold them off the best I can!" he shouted as he struggled to get his handgun free from its holster. "Get moving!"

I rolled over and began to crawl towards the car. Nothing in my life was ever easy.

Nothing.


	57. Fifty-Five

I crawled as fast as I could as lead soared above me, hitting all the various concrete and stone effigies that provided cover. I got my gun out after making it around the backside of the tree I parked near and peered around the corner.

I gasped, "What the…?"

The attackers were dark camouflaged teenage girls, barely over the age of sixteen. Yielding Heckler & Koch HK M27 assault rifles—bigger than an AR-15 used by civilians but lighter than traditional equipment—the junior varsity squad of assassination school moved with expert coordination as they worked their way towards Dr. Earley. I opened fire on them, attempting to scare them by aiming towards the ground and over their heads.

They weren't fazed. In the least, they became more focused on me.

I made myself as skinny as possible as the trunk of the tree was pelted with bullets. I held my breath and peeked once more. Dr. Earley was crawling towards me as quickly as he could.

"Get to the car!" he shouted, rising to his feet.

I grabbed his arms and pulled him with me as we tumbled over another headstone. The girls began running forward. We quickly got up and scrambled into the car as they started shooting again. Bullets impacted my windshield and hood. Dr. Earley slammed his door shut as I pulled mine closed and started the engine. Pressing the accelerator to the ground, I threw the gear into drive. The front tires screamed with rubber burning as we propelled forward. The dirt road made a semicircle to the exit on the other side of the cemetery; there was still a chance they could land one lucky shot. Dr. Earley kept his head low as I keyed the radio.

"What the fuck is wrong with this thing?!" I shouted.

Earley looked over at me and exclaimed, "What?!"

"The radio… it's not coming on! Goddammit!"

The rear passenger window exploded, spraying glass everywhere throughout the backseat. I banked hard on the last turn with the exit in sight. The girl-scouts-from-hell squad were desperately running through the graveyard, stopping every so often to fire off a few shots at us in an effort to manage to hit at least something. We hit the road hard and nearly caused a head-on collision with an oncoming car. Three miles down the road, our adrenaline levels finally lowered somewhat.

"What the fuck was that?!" I yelled at Earley.

"What you saw back… back there, Jonny," he replied, out of breath. "Was the upper hand that these shitheads have on us."

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"You already experienced one the other day, didn't you?" he asked. "Young guy, apparently a munitions expert?"

The kid that Steve added an extra orifice to.

I sighed, "Yeah…"

"Kids and young adults are easier to manipulate; their idea of free will is still developing and it's much easier to corral them into doing the dirty work. Why do you think there are so many child soldiers in Africa? Besides, ask yourself: how would you feel about pulling the trigger on someone that's not even old enough to vote?"

I remained silent.

"You see how it affected Wade," he said.

I asked, "Was that by her own free will or was that one of these subjects going rogue?"

"To be honest, I don't know… it might've been both. Where does Reno want to meet you at?"

"The lighthouse… near where the mansion once was…"

Dr. Earley nodded knowingly.

"You like to go there?" he questioned.

I didn't answer immediately. The lighthouse was what I referred to as my "safe place." All the old computers, including IRIS, had been moved out long ago. Yet, even with its sparseness, the place was more than welcoming to a withered soul like myself. The only items I kept there were a recliner, a flat screen television, and a small refrigerator stocked with alcohol. On starry nights I would go there when I needed direction. I wasn't sure if Christ was real or not, but if He was, I prayed He would give me some indication He was out there, listening.

Dr. Earley's phone rang again. Answering it, I heard him say "Really? Fuck… Okay. Got it."

"What is it?" I asked as he hung up.

"Pull off onto Madelyn Lane, right after the campground up ahead."

"Why?"

"We need to ditch this ride."

" _What?_ "

"Just do it, Jonny," Earley snapped. "They're out looking for us now."

I looked at him and asked, "They?"

"Some of your department have become 'activated' and are looking for you, and I don't mean in a friendly hide-and-go-seek sort of way. I mean as in a blow your fucking head off and dump your body in a dumpster behind Arby's sort of way. Now pull over up here on Madelyn so you can get another ride. I'll take this one and try to lead them away from the lighthouse."

I pulled off onto the dirt road after Megunticook Campground and before the pediatrician's office. Surrounded by a thick foliage of trees, I kept a steady fifteen miles-per-hour speed limit as the winding road lead us towards the coastline. A brick two-story house came into view at the end of the road. Out front in the driveway stood Billy with a red 1986 Dodge Daytona coupe.

I slid to a halt and got out after throwing the transmission into park. As I scrambled to get out, Billy jogged forward. His uniform was ripped in various places from running in the woods; blood stained his face and fabric.

"Billy," I said with a mixed breath of anger and confusion. "What the fuck are you doing, man?"

He put his hands on my shoulders, his eyes bloodshot and frightened.

He replied, "Jonny… don't believe them. I didn't know what happened that night until it was too late. I tried to stop this shit now but… but they found out…"

Billy took his hands off me as I took a step back.

"This… that night… this is all too much," I said, shaking my head.

Dr. Earley shouted from the driver side window: "We don't have time for this! Billy, get in!"

Billy looked at me one last time and told me that he was sorry for what happened and that he would never forgive himself. Before I could respond he shoved a set of keys into my hands and ran to the passenger side of the Crown Victoria. Once inside, Dr. Earley performed a perfectly executed J-turn and floored it away from the house. I started blankly after them for a few moments before turning to the residence: a large "CONDEMNED" sign hung on the front door, even though the house looked exquisite.

I got into the Dodge and started it up. Deadman Point, the neighborhood where the old house stood and not far from Dad's current house, was my next destination. I shifted into drive and made my way back to the highway.

Things were about to go from bad to worse.


	58. Fifty-Six

I tried calling Steve and was greeted with an automated message saying that my call couldn't be completed. After three more futile attempts, I tried calling Melissa. Then Jessie. Then Hadji.

Same result on all.

My phone showed a full signal bar. Just for complete shits and giggles, I dialed 911.

The automated voice responded: "I'm sorry, but your call cannot be…"

I hung up before it could finish its sentence.

I stared at the phone for a few moments before taking the battery out. Past experience had taught me that if there was any way to be tracked, a cellular device was a prime utility in doing so. I tossed the dismantled phone into the passenger seat and accelerated above the speed limit. The lighthouse would be, by rough estimate, a mere three more minutes. Dad's house would be on the way—he owned the land leading up to the road and decided to build not far from where the original mansion stood—which would give me a little time to at least make sure he was safe.

Two minutes and twenty seconds later, I was swerving into Dad's driveway.

Both his and Hadji's car were in front of the garage. I slammed the gear shift into park and tumbled out of the vehicle. I ran to the front door and tried the front latch: it was locked. I beat on the door and yelled for anyone inside to open up. There was no immediate answer; I leapt off the front porch and started searching the windows. I ran around back and climbed over the deck to discover that the patio door was slightly ajar. I shoved it open and made my way into the kitchen. I quickly searched every inch of the house, including Dad's office, and found nothing.

I ran back to my father's office and picked up the desk phone. I quickly dialed Race's cellular number.

"I'm sorry, but…"

I slammed the phone down and cursed. I left the house and got back into the car. I swerved out onto the private drive leading to the lighthouse and pressed the accelerator to the floor. When the destination in question came into view, I slowed down marginally and started scanning the horizon for anything out of the ordinary.

Parked outside of the lighthouse was a strangely familiar Scion and a shiny new Buick.

I slowed down to a halt, put the car into park, and killed the ignition. I got out and looked up at the lighthouse. It was a white conical shape with a black trim that stood one hundred feet in the air. It was decommissioned in the early 1960s with the automation of the Rockland Harbor Breakwater Light and change of shipping lanes along the area, as well as the advent of several buoys garrisoning off the area from large ships. Dad originally had his laboratory housed inside along with IRIS, a joint-venture between Quest Enterprises and IBM during the early nineties to create a responsive artificial, learning intelligence. IRIS had laid groundwork for IBM's next responsive artificial intelligence platform Watson.

I pulled out my gun and slowly approached the reinforced wooden door.

Before I could put my hand on the knob it flung open. A slender arm reached out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me inside. Race brushed past me as he did a quick survey of the area behind me before slamming and locking the door. Estella let go of my arm and threw her arms around me, hugging me tight. With my free arm I returned the embrace while I holstered my weapon.

"Jonny," she said through hyperventilated breaths. "Thank Jesus Christ you're still alive."

When she let go, I looked back at Race. Wearing a sweaty blue plaid shirt and dirty jeans, he was definitely a sight for sore eyes. His face was sullen and sweaty; his mind appeared to be traveling at a high rate of speed. Looking back at Estella, she didn't fare much better. She pushed the sleeves of her cream-colored sweater up to her elbows and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

"Where is he?" I asked, referring to Reno. "Where's Jessie? Steve? Melissa?"

Estella silently stepped aside. Sitting in my recliner, dressed in the same garb that I first encountered him in, was the supposed man of the hour. Clutched in one gloved hand held above his head was a clear plastic bag full of a mystery substance. An intravenous tube led to underneath his coat. Reno slowly turned his head and looked at me, his mask shrouded in the shadows of the lighthouse interior.

"You do not have to be afraid, Jonny," he said with the aid of his voice modulator. "You can come closer."

I walked over and slowly circled around him, choosing to stand in front of my television and face him.

"What's in the bag?" I asked.

He inhaled and said, "My lunch."

This guy was apparently a walking hospital bed. Yet he was notorious enough, apparently, to be feared in the highest regard.

"What's happening?" I demanded. "Where is everyone?"

Estella put her hands on my shoulders and tried to calm me.

Reno shifted his gaze away from me.

"They'll be here soon; we don't have much time," he said. "Jessica is currently outside watching; your father, Hadji and his love interest are, I assume, safe. They weren't at home when I gathered up the Bannon family."

"And Elena? Melissa?"

Reno faltered for a minute.

I slowly put my hand on the grip of my gun.

He inhaled before saying, "I had Elena taken somewhere safe… your fiancée was taken."

Estella clamped her hand down onto my wrist with the assistance of Race as I struggled to get it out of its holster. Screaming profanities and fighting with the two adults must've drawn Jessie's attention: bursting through the door, she immediately shouted at the top of her lungs. She ran over and wrapped her arms around me tightly in a form of restraint and relief.

"Don't!" she exclaimed. "He's here to help us!"

"The hell he is," I muttered. "Last time he tried to kidnap me himself and almost killed Julia."

Jessie backed up and shook her head in disbelief, saying, "Jonny, I know, but… we kind of need each other at this point. He's not a friend but he's not an enemy, sort of."

She turned around back to Reno and asked, "Does he know about Steve and the others?"

"Know what?" I questioned.

"They're missing," Reno said. He reached into his coat pocket and tossed me a small digital recorder.

"Press play: it's a voicemail Earley sent me this morning."

I glared at him momentarily before pressing the play button with my thumb.

The digital recorder's speaker played back: "They managed to activate the man… Julia and the child met me at the ferry dock. We're driving now… don't know where yet. Gotta switch cars and… hang on, I think I just found Billy. I'll call you back."

I tossed the device back to Reno.

"Was it Billy?" I asked.

Reno nodded, saying, "If I'm not mistaken, you drove up in the car he managed to steal."

"Why can't I call anyone?"

"C-2 has more than likely blocked your lines. Your best bet for communication is to use I-1 devices."

"Wait… what do you know about I-1? What is C-2?"

"We don't have time for this, Jonny," Race protested firmly. "We need to get moving. We can talk about this once we're somewhere relatively safe."

"And where would that be, Race? Every single fucking place I've been to in the past seven days has been a risk of my life. I'm not even sure I can hit the local McDonald's drive-thru without getting a few holes in my goddamned windshield."

"How's your French?" Reno interjected.

I turned to him in confusion and asked, "What?!"

"Your French," he repeated. "How well can you speak it?"

"I'm fluent in it because of the locals. Why?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper ripped from a steno book.

"You have until dawn to meet at this address in Montreal," he said. "Otherwise, I will assume you've been either killed or captured."

"Montreal?!" I shouted in disbelief. "That's five whole fucking hours from here! What the hell is that going to help anything?!"

Reno pushed himself out of the chair and over to me. With a firm grasp he grabbed my collar and pulled me close enough to see the faint imagery of eyeballs behind the protected lenses.

"We are out of options. Do you understand?" he scolded, the inflection in his robotic voice growing dark. "This location is as safe as it is going to get. I do not care what you think of me or what my orders are. My job is to return you in one piece so that I may finally find some vindication in an attempt to get some sleep at night. You think your sins are greater than everyone else's? I have smothered children in their beds, ruptured spines in order to make paraplegics, caused the death of countless untold others. I honestly don't give a heaping shit what you don't know about what's going on around you. What I was promised I may not even get, but to me, it's the only thing that's keeping my sorry miserable existence going. Now, you have until forty minutes after seven in the morning on the motherfucking dot to have your skinny blonde badge-wielding ass at this location because we can't go together. Got it?"

I nodded silently.

"Avoid the border checkpoint," he continued. "They probably have an APB put out for us. You're going to be breaking a lot of laws so I hope your conscience doesn't get in the way. Any questions?"

I looked down at the ground and asked, "Just one: can I at least take Jessie with me?"

Jessie put her hands on my left arm.

Reno was silent for a moment before agreeing.

"It's probably best you take the Marine with you," he said. "I advise you to utilize any smugglers you have encountered in your travels to get you there. Race, take Estella with you. I will travel alone."

I looked back up, asking, "And Dr. Earley? Billy?"

"I will see what I can do."

I looked over at Jessie. She gave me a tight hug; Race and Estella added to the embrace as well. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Reno inhale and then slowly make his way towards the door.

It was then, at least for a passing moment, that I actually felt empathy towards him.

Luckily, it didn't last long.


	59. Fifty-Seven

"How does Reno know that Steve and the others are missing?" I asked Jessie as we drove out onto the highway. "That fucker _has_ to know where they're at…"

Jessie shook her head, saying, "He must've saw them get captured; I don't know. Jonny, I'm scared, more so than I already was."

"How was Melissa captured? Did you see it?"

"She had to go to campus today due to an emergency department meeting. She said all the commotion here in the area is causing some concern among faculty and they wanted to go over some updated security procedures. I asked her if she wanted me to ride with her but she said no. I got a frantic phone call from a girl named Cindy Frierson—"

"Yeah, that's a graduate assistant there," I interrupted. "Go on."

"Cindy said that campus police showed up at her office and arrested her. Melissa tried to ask why and apparently was beaten into the ground before being drug out in handcuffs. Cindy looked out the window and saw her being dumped into the back of an unmarked car, most definitely not one of the campus cruisers."

I hit the steering wheel in anger and shouted a profanity.

"Jonny, I'm sorry…"

"No, Jessie, it's not your fault," I said after regaining control. "Melissa has the bad habit of underestimating the situation. She sometimes can't think on her feet the way that I, we, can."

Jessie looked out the windshield.

"Where are you going?" she asked hesitantly.

"To the station," I answered.

"Not to sound insulting, but… are you absolutely sure that's a good idea?"

"No, not really, but there's someone there I need to see."

"Who?" she asked.

"Steve said he had left Lorenzo in the jail for his own safe keeping. Chances are, he's still there."

Jessie gave me a serious look.

"I know," I said with a small shrug. "I should probably call first."


	60. Fifty-Eight

I stopped a few blocks away from the jail behind near the Social Security administration office and turned the ignition off.

"What're you doing?" Jessie asked.

"We can't just waltz up there, Jess," I replied, taking out the last cigarette from my pack. "We're going to go in the back door."

"You sure that's safe?"

"Not really; but it's a lot safer than angling from the front. Come on…"

We abandoned the Dodge and walked through the rear lot towards the what little cover the trees next to nearby Oliver Street provided. I looked over at Jessie's waist and mentioned, "You're unarmed?"

"Didn't have time to grab anything," she answered. "All I have is my Ka-Bar strapped to my ankle."

"That may be more than enough. We'll try to find you something at the station."

Directly beside the front office was a small apartment complex and a rented storage facility. Following the overhead high-tension lines, we were able to hide amongst the field behind the complex and use the storage facilities as an obstruction. With the jail in visible sight, we hugged a tree line that followed the outer perimeter of the parking lot.

"Stop," I whispered. "Get down."

We both hit the dirt as a patrol unit slowly traversed the driveway towards the kennels.

"That's our ticket in," I said. "Come on."

I helped Jessie up and together we sprinted through the small forest after the marked sports utility vehicle. The kennels were located at the northern end of the compound near the recreation yard. Prisoners were responsible for caring for officer canines when they weren't on patrol. The unit parked in an empty space; the officer driving turned the engine off and opened the driver-side door. We stopped behind a small utility shed adjacent to the dog pens. The dogs, sensing our presence, began to cause quite a ruckus.

"Wait here," Jessie whispered.

She reached down and pulled up her pants leg above her right sneaker. Sure enough, as stated, a USMC Mark 2 combat knife, better known as its trademarked name KA-BAR, rested in its leather sheath strapped to her fair-skinned ankle. Jessie quietly undid the single snap button and removed the seven-inches of carbon steel, holding the hilt in upside down in anticipation of close-quarters combat.

I looked back at her and asked, "You're not going to kill him, are you?"

"It's your call," Jessie replied solemnly.

It was hard to believe that the woman crouched before me was once my "partner-in-crime," a true childhood friend in which our limits were tested, our lives were constantly on the line, and yet, amazing, fun times we experienced together not only as children but, at one time, as a couple. Jessie was never the one to condone violence, instead opting for situations in which another person—namely, her father—could handle. That all changed, though; why it did was beyond me.

Jessica Margaret Leya Bannon was no longer a cautiously ambitious teenager: she was a hardened veteran of foreign conflicts. People she knew, worked with, and cared about were killed, maimed, or disabled right before her eyes. Officially, women were barred from active combat missions. However, the Department of Defense was always up for experiments, and this conflict was no exception. Upon deployment, Jessie was assigned to a specialized all-female fire team, a subunit of a rifle platoon in the hot zone surrounding the Baghdad region of Iraq. Three improvised explosive devices and one casualty later, she was promoted to corporal and assigned an automatic rifleman position. From there Jessie continued to work her way up the ranks, gaining training in communications and intelligence gathering.

"Jonny?"

I sighed, "Get him back here alive and we'll stuff him somewhere."

Jessie gave a silent nod before crouch walking across the pavement behind the vehicle. I kept a lookout for any people that might notice her approach. The backyard of the jail was normally quiet save for the dogs; however, given the circumstances, that was subject to change without notice. I turned my attention back to the patrol unit. I couldn't see what was happening on the driver side but I could hear a shuffling of feet. Jessie emerged with handler Patrick Yates, an older deputy who was fifteen years my senior. His bald head was heavily perspired as a woman half his body weight held a knife slightly embedded into his neck from behind with her left hand and kept his right arm wrenched behind him. Jessie had slipped her left arm underneath Yates' in order to make it as awkward as possible for him to move; suffice to say, it was highly efficient. While Jessie made her way back with our prisoner I opened the small utility shed and prepared an area to place the deputy.

When Jessie turned and faced Yates towards me, his brown eyes widened.

"Jonny!" he exclaimed in a raspy voice. "What's happening?! What're you doing?!"

I removed a roll of high strength duct tape from a shelf in the shed and tore off a piece. I placed it firmly across Yates' lips before removing his handcuffs.

"Down on your face," Jessie said calmly.

Together they went to the plywood floor of the shed with Jessie placing her knee firmly in the middle of his back. I took Yates' right hand and brought his left leg upwards, handcuffing the two together. Jessie did the same with the left arm and right leg using the duct tape I had found.

"I'm sorry, Pat," I said. "I don't know if you're a part of this or not and I'm not in a position to take chances. Just do me a favor: don't shoot me if you ever run across me."

I reached down and removed Yates' utility belt. I handed it to Jessie and instructed her to put it on.

"You've got a Glock 17C at your disposal," I said, pointing to each item on the belt. "Those two pouches there have extra bullets to put in your clip. This is your pepper spray and this is your Taser."

"Now I just need a uniform," she replied with a half-smile.

I stopped in midstride from exiting the shed.

Brittany was about Jessie's size and always kept a spare uniform in her locker.

"I think you're onto something, Jess," I said. "Come on, I've got a plan: we're going to make you an officer."


	61. Fifty-Nine

We climbed into Patrick Yates' assigned patrol vehicle. Turning the SUV around, we slowly made our way towards the back of the office. The lockup, at this hour, would be crawling with jailers. Fortunately, to cut costs, we outsourced most of the grunt work, "cattle herding" as it was referred to internally, to police cadets and new deputies. This allowed employees under the age of twenty-one to gather experience as an officer until they were of legal drinking age and allowed to go into places that served open alcohol.

I parked the unit into one of the reserved parking spaces near the office back door. We slipped out of the vehicle and ran up to the wall, desperately trying to stay out of open sight from anyone passing by and the security camera. With Jessie behind me, I slowly put my hand on the door handle and gave a gentle push downward. Even though Sheriff Smoak sent out enough memorandums to constitute three reams of paper, staff were still found leaving the door unlocked out of convenience. I slipped inside and slowly lead Jessie inside by hand.

Our first stop: my office.

I could hear lots of talking from the front of the building where the conference room was located. Cautiously, I peered around the corner towards the lobby. I could see numerous news outlets' equipment scattered all around Brittany's desk and floor.

Jessie whispered, "What's going on?"

"Looks like a news conference," I whispered back. "We'll have to check it out later."

We made it to my office unnoticed. I closed the door and locked it to ensure that nobody would be making a surprise entrance. I ran over to my desk and examined the surface. My phone had numerous voicemails and my drawers were ajar. I sat down at my desk and logged into my computer.

"What are you doing?" Jessie asked as she peered over my shoulder.

I sent numerous documents to the printer.

"Jonny?"

I handed Jessie the small stack of papers that had been printed.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Read it," I said. "They're tying up loose ends."

I had handed Jessie e-mails that were sent to me from Shawn Pack, one of the county crime scene investigators. He had noticed discrepancies in various lab reports that Rachel had recorded, especially in the evidence that was collected at Garry Barber's house. The most damning thing Shawn had found were the fingerprints on the gun used to kill Pam Hoyle and Garry Barber.

They were Detective Sergeant Wade Carpenter's.

The next e-mail was a department-wide memorandum announcing that an all-points bulletin had been placed on Billy. The body that was found in the back of his car was identified as one Aimee Bostic. On a hunch, I checked my voicemails. I skipped through uninteresting ones until I hit pay dirt. On a message dated at some time around three in the morning, Aimee's voice said, "You're in trouble… I can't say how much yet, or what's going to happen, but you have to trust him. He's your only way of getting through this alive. I've got to go; I'm being tailed."

I imagined that the "him" she was referring to was Reno.

The next interesting voicemail I stumbled upon was from Wade's wife, Lori.

"Jonny, it's Lori," her voice said. "Wade's conscious, but just barely because of all the pain medication. He's communicating in notepads. He wrote something about the trunk of his car. I opened it up and there's a large computer inside. He also wrote the name 'Barber'; any idea what this means? Anyway, can you call me when you get a chance?"

I was about to take a huge risk, but I knew no other way.

I picked up the phone and dialed.

On the first ring, a male answered: "Operator."

As soft as I could, I responded, "I need to place a collect call, please."

I gave the operator the number to Lori Carpenter. Four distinctive clicks, a computerized voice announcing that my call was being transferred, and then Lori's voice on the second ring.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Lori," I said. "It's Jonny."

"Jonny, thank God… where are you? I've had numerous deputies come by here asking if they've seen you. I think they're watching the house."

"They are, but it's not the police," I said. "Listen, I don't have much time. I need to come to your house; are you there now?"

She hesitated, "Yes…"

"Stay there. I'll have a friend with me. We'll be in uniform to throw them off. After we leave, I want you and Aria to get out of the state. Do you have somewhere to go that's fairly remote?"

"Jonny, what's going on?"

"I can't explain that now Lori, just answer me," I said firmly.

After a brief moment of silence, Lori agreed.

"I'll try to explain when I get there. Gotta go."

I hung up before she could answer.

Turning back to Jessie, I motioned towards the door. She dropped the papers and followed silently. I slowly peered out from around the door jamb: the hallway was still clear. The locker room was within a quick sprint. I took Jessie's hand and made a run for it, ducking down to be as covert as I could. We slipped into the locker room unnoticed. I immediately went to the locker marked "ROBERTS" and looked down at the combination lock.

"Now what?" Jessie whispered.

"Watch this," I said.

Being the sweet guy that I was, I was known for retrieving things from the office ladies' lockers from time to time. By doing so, I ended up learning the combinations to all the combination locks employed. Brittany, being a woman, was no exception. I quickly spun the dial and released the tumbler from the shackle and tossed the lock aside. I flung open Brittany's locker and handed Jessie a patrol uniform. Jessie didn't hesitate pulling her shirt off in front of me. In that slight instant, I imagined the immeasurable joy I would feel relieving her of the rest of her clothing and undergarments and having her there on the bench under the pale fluorescent lights overhead. I let out a sigh as she finished buttoning the shirt.

"Disappointed?" Jessie asked.

"Slightly," I said. "I rather enjoy seeing you in your underwear… and out of it."

A small smile creased across her red lips as she undid her belt and unzipped her pants. I took Brittany's gym bag and opened it up in order to stuff Jessie's previous attire inside. After Jessie tied her boots, she stood up and examined herself in the mirror hanging inside Brittany's locker door.

"You would make a great deputy," I said as I handed her the utility belt.

Jessie put it on silently.

"You know I've considered it," she replied. "If I ever left the Marines, I would want to come work here."

"To be near me?"

She gave me a parting glance before attaching the badge, saying, "That's part of the reason."

I gave a small nod and handed her Brittany's gym bag. We turned around and walked over to my locker. As I changed out of my clothes and into my patrol uniform, Jessie said, "I miss you… every night I fall asleep thinking about you."

I didn't say anything.

"There's still so much I want to tell you," she continued. "There's… there's a lot that you don't know… a lot of things that are wrong."

I turned to her.

She gasped, "Oh, Jonny…"

Jessie wiped the tears from my eyes and off my cheeks.

"It's okay," she whispered. "We'll get through this."

"I don't know if the truth is worth this much," I whimpered. "I just want to go home…"

"I know you do, babe; but we're in too deep. They're not going to stop until you stop it."

I scoffed as I finished buttoning up my shirt.

"I don't think this will ever stop, Jessica. The only way it will is when I put a bullet in my brain."

She protested, "Don't say that."

I wiped my eyes once more.

"It doesn't matter," I said somewhat bitterly. "I'm just a means to an end for these people it seems. Me and the others, whoever they are… for all I know, you may be one of them, too."

Jessie didn't respond.

In retrospect, she didn't have to.

I finished getting dressed.

Slamming my locker shut, I put on my badge and a department cap to help conceal my identity.

"Let's go," I said. "Hopefully Lorenzo isn't dead yet.


	62. Sixty

We walked to the jail facility without incident. Any deputies that were free were more than likely at the press conference or being assigned to a patrol looking for me. I wondered if Billy and Dr. Earley made it somewhere safe as we approached the reinforced steel door that served as the employee entrance to the facility. I slid my identification card through the electronic card reader mounted on the brick wall nearby and pulled the door open. Jessie walked in and stopped within the entrance to allow me to take lead.

"If anyone stops us," I whispered. "Take them out in any way you see fit."

Jessie nodded.

The booking area was an elongated area consisting of two isolation cells, two detox cells, an individual holding cell, and a group holding cell. The airlocks—or, as they were formally known, "ports"—served as the vestibules between each segment of the correctional facility. On a full load, the jail could house eighty-six tenants, segregated into women, juveniles, and men. As we approached the booking desk, I put my arm out to keep Jessie back as I slowed my approach.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"There's supposed to be a booking officer here," I said. "But…"

I approached the counter and peered over. I could see a pair of legs sticking out from underneath the desk and blood pooling nearby.

"Shit!" I shouted as I vaulted over the desk.

I landed on my knees and came to the side of Major Travis "Ward" Walker, the jail administrator. Travis passed retirement age but stayed on the job because of his love of law enforcement and corrections management. His white hair was soaked with blood and his jaw had been shattered. Yet, even with these ailments, he still clung to life. He opened his weary brown eyes and looked up at me.

"Jonny," his hoarse voice whispered. "Thank God you came…"

"Ward, what the fuck happened?" I asked. "You've got…"

"Yeah… they shot me in the goddamn head…"

He smiled and added, "My wife always said my skull was pretty thick."

I could hear Jessie searching desperately for a first aid kit of some kind behind me. I knew it would ultimately be fruitless as Travis' body was starting to shut down from blood loss.

Travis took a deep breath and continued: "They… they're looking for that… Lor-en-zo guy… I didn't know which cell Mandy put him in. I'm… I'm sorry, Jonny… for all of this… Coleman…"

I pressed anxiously, "Ward, who is looking for Lorenzo? Can you describe them?"

"Masks… they wore masks… girl… wore some white mask… woman with her… and man with French accent…"

Travis exhaled hoarsely and died. I wanted to weep; instead, anger grew steadily inside of me.

"Jessie," I said.

Jessie stopped ransacking the desk drawers and other offices and slowly returned to the booking area. After closing Travis' eyes I stood upright and looked over at her. She gave a mournful expression in response. I walked to the other end of the booking area towards the air lock to the staff area. Jessie silently followed. Once in the staff area, I directed her attention towards a staging area for jailers to get suited up in the event of uncooperative prisoners.

"Grab a riot shield," I ordered. "And follow me."

With our shields in front of us, we exited through the hallway that led directly to the population airlock and central control. As we got closer, voices could be heard.

"Open this fucking door!" a familiar voice shouted. "God-fucking-dammit, why isn't she programmed?"

I ducked down behind my shield as I stopped at the corner and pressed myself up against the white concrete wall. We were less than fifty feet from the outer control room.

The voice asked to another, "You, are you sure there is no other way to open this door?"

"Yes," came the response.

I recognized the responding voice as Deputy Larry Beheler.

A gunshot rang out followed by a muffled scream from the control room. A thud on the floor indicated to me that Deputy Beheler had outlived his usefulness. I slowly peered around the corner.

"Why the hell did you do that?" asked a large man with a thick French accent. He donned a plague doctor's mask, a mask that harkened back to a 17th century costume that was donned by doctors treating those with the Bubonic Plague. The mask looked like that of a bird with an elongated beak that held scents and other aromas per the miasma theory. The eyes were protected by glass; the wearer typically wore a wide-brimmed hat and elongated garment to signify their profession. Instead, he opted for a suit jacket and slacks.

In this case, he didn't come to heal, instead opting to dish out an epidemic of bullet wounds.

"Shut up," barked the younger woman as she kicked Larry's lifeless body in frustration.

Just as Travis had said, it was who I had feared: Kill Bill girl from Atlanta, this time dressed in a women's white business suit. I wagered that the tall one with the mask was none other than Boyce Descoteaux, whom I had originally presumed dead but at that point figured he would just take a sick day. That left one last suspect…

Uma Thurman the removed a handheld radio from her waist and keyed it, saying, "Clarissa, are they done in there yet?"

"Almost," Clarissa Descoteaux's voice crackled over the radio. "I'll grab Smoak once the news clears out."

"What's going on?" Jessie whispered.

"They can't get through the door to the male population," I whispered back. "Unfortunately, the only way to lock it is in the control room… where Mandy is…"

Mandy Carver was the latest rookie to join the ranks of the Maine County Sheriff's Department. A redhead like Jessie, Mandy was known for her ballsy, no-bullshit attitude, especially since she was skinnier than Jessie. Unfortunately, without a gun and trapped, she was at the mercy of her captors until help arrived.

"They're not looking now," I said. "Shoot to kill on the tall one. Wound the girl. We might be able to find out something from her."

Jessie nodded and asked, "Okay… ready?"

"Yeah, do it."

With a jaunt forward, I took aim with my gun and fired the first round towards Boyce. The round missed and slammed into the bulletproof glass that allowed the control room to look out from. Descoteaux slid to the right as far as the hallway would allow before being pelted with bullets from Jessie. His right arm flew backwards from three hits before his torso took two more. Descoteaux fell into the control room window and slid down to the floor, leaving a large blood smear behind him. The girl fired wildly from her handgun, presumably in a last ditch effort to try and inflict damage. However, her shitty shooting only took out an overhead light, left four markings in the walls and floor, and pissed me off in general. I took a careful aim and pulled the trigger. A forty-five caliber slug slammed into her shoulder bone with enough force to take her off her feet.

Without hesitation, we bolted forward. Jessie managed to grab the gun from the girl before she could attempt to use it again as I tossed aside my riot shield and picked her up by her collar and threw her against the wall. I punched her as hard as I could in the lower abdomen, knocking all wind out of her, before rearing back and punching her in the face through her mask. I grabbed the bottom of it and ripped it off. My fist hurt like I had just punched through a cinderblock, but damn, was it worth it: I caused a broken nose and a missing tooth which she spat out. Her bloodshot blue eyes stared at me fiercely as I pressed my left forearm against her throat and pushed forward. Jessie stood by with her gun pointed directly at the girl's head.

"You better pray that you weren't the one who killed Ward," I warned in a dark voice.

She didn't respond.

"What's your name?"

No response.

With my right hand I punched her again in the abdomen. She gagged and coughed.

"Harry Houdini died from severe blunt force trauma that ruptured his appendix," I said. "If you don't get to a hospital soon and get checked out, I'm going to put you out of your misery by blowing your brains out via your vagina. Now: WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!"

I was about to punch again when she spoke: "Nikki."

"I don't believe you," I snapped.

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"I guess not. Why are you here? To kill Lorenzo?"

"Earley was coming to pick him up. We were going to get the drop on them."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

I punched her once in the abdomen and once in the face, giving her a black eye. I pressed my forearm up against her throat again.

"Wrong answer," I said firmly.

"I don't!" she shouted. "We were just instructed to get rid of them by any means necessary."

"And me?"

"You're wanted alive."

I stared at her intently for a moment.

"Who sent you?" I asked. "Who do you report to?"

I could see tears start welling up in Nikki's eyes.

I grabbed her collar once more with both hands and shouted my question again in her face.

She started weeping.

"WHO?!" I shouted again.

Nikki screamed, "JUDITH WATERSTON!"

I dropped her back to the floor and backed up.

"Jonny?" Jessie asked, lowering the gun.

"Once we find Lorenzo and take care of Lori, I want you to go to Canada without me," I said. "I know…"

Jessie turned me towards her abruptly and slapped me as hard as she could.

"What the hell was that for?!" I yelled.

"What the fuck are you saying?" she asked heatedly. "You're not leaving me alone to go back up there by myself!"

"Jessie, it's for…"

Jessie shook her head.

"No, Jonny, it's not for the best," she interrupted. "Jonny, you need me just as much as I need you right now. We need to go to where Reno is and figure out the best plan of attack."

"Plan of attack?" I asked. "Jessie, we aren't going to war with a county here, Jesus."

"Look," she said, pointing to Nikki, who was now sitting on the floor. "We have someone that can get us in, right? You're not just going to waltz up there and let her hand you over."

I looked away from Jessie in embarrassment.

She put her hands on my shoulders and said, "Jonny, look… I know you want to find your mom; I know you want to find out what's going on. But can't you see that it would possibly be a suicide mission going in alone? For all you know, Judith wants you planted six feet under."

I whispered, "Yeah…"

Jessie kissed me gently on the cheek.

"Jonny, you know I'm here, right?" she asked.

I nodded silently.

"Please, say yes."

"I know," I said softly.

She let go of my shoulders. I reached down and grabbed Nikki's good arm and pulled her to her feet.

"From here on out, you do what I say to stay alive," I said firmly. "No theatrics, no bullshit; just tell me what I want to know when I want to know it. Do that, and I won't ram a pair of garden shears up your uterus. Got it?"

She nodded silently as she kept her wound covered.

I banged on the control room door and said, "Open up Mandy, it's Detective Quest."


	63. Sixty-One

"I don't know what's happening," Mandy said as she tried to compose herself while sitting in the swivel chair in front of the monitor banks of each security camera within the facility. "We were lightly staffed today; it was just me, Major Walker, and six other jailers. I don't know where they all went…"

I put my hand on her back and reassured her, "It's okay, Mandy. Can you tell me if there's been any new additions today?"

"Deputy Beheler was escorting someone earlier that seemed a bit off… he didn't say who it was."

"Can you describe him?"

"He had a dark beard, black hair, wore a suit…"

I looked at Jessie. She was bandaging Nikki's gunshot wound with supplies found in the first aid cabinet. I turned back to Mandy, her narrow face flushed with tears, and asked, "Do you know which cell he put them in?"

"Yeah," she said. "He put them with yours—that Lorenzo guy—over in the women's block for some reason. They're in cell B1-14"

Well that was awfully clever, I thought.

"Mandy, listen: you need to get out of here and get as far away from this town as you can."

She began to protest, "But I…"

" _Just do it!_ "

Mandy lowered her gaze and silently nodded. Jessie finished bandaging our captive as Mandy left.

"I need you to open their door when I get there, Jessie," I said. "I'm taking Nikki with me."

"You sure that's wise?" she asked.

"No use in you carrying around extra baggage in the event the shit hits the fan."

Nikki rolled her eyes, saying, "You know I'm standing right here…"

Jessie gripped the hole in her shoulder tightly. Nikki screamed in pain and fell to her knees only to be yanked back up by her hair and shoved over to me.

"She's all yours," Jessie said with utmost impunity.

I took Nikki by the arm and demonstrated how to open and close cell doors on the console to Jessie. She pointed at one button and asked, "What's this one do?"

"That opens all the cell doors," I explained. "Probably not a good idea to do that today."

She looked at me quizzically, asking, "Why?"

"There are two other state penitentiaries in the county. This place serves as an overflow and temporary stays for the most special felons. Last I checked, we were near full capacity. Maine State Prison is currently renovating some of their facilities and had to move their most troublemaking offenders here to keep a close eye on them."

"Oh, goody."

"I'll be back. In the event something happens, get out of here alive. Got it?"

"Only if you promise me you'll do the same," Jessie said. "How can I contact you?"

I took Jessie's radio and adjusted the channels to an obscure one that was rarely used before doing the same to mine. Satisfied, I dragged Nikki with me as we made our way to the women's wing. The cell that Earley and Lorenzo were occupying were on the bottom towards the end of the far wall. Due to the overflow, some corners had to be cut and many male occupants were placed in the women's block. I could feel Nikki press into me a little closer as we walked across the floor under the watchful eye of Jessie in the control tower as well as the eyes of every other resident inmate. A bank of fourteen cells made up two adjacent walls on the first floor with the other fourteen on top for each block; in the center was the commons area where inmates could socialize and stretch their legs.

Nikki pressed closer into me as rowdy male prisoners started catcalling and banging on their doors.

"If I may ask," I said. "How old are you?"

"I… I think I'm nineteen," she said timidly.

"You think?"

"I really don't know, to be honest."

Sighing, I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. I could feel her trembling as the shouting and noises got louder. Steve had said that kids and young adults were easier to manipulate and Nikki was no exception. She would prove invaluable to the knowledge that she contained if willing to talk.

We stopped in front of the cell that purportedly contained who I sought. The narrow vertical window that allowed guards to look in was obstructed by the mattress; whoever was inside didn't want anyone to know who they were. I rapped on the heavy steel door a few times and shouted for Dr. Earley or Lorenzo but was met with no response.

"Jessie, I can't tell who's inside," I said into my radio. "Can you unlock the door?"

After a few moments the heavy tumblers clicked. I moved Nikki over to the side to where she would beside the doorway but unable to shove me in should something go awry. I grabbed the handle and gave a hard yank. As soon as the door gave way the mattress came pushing forward into me. I stood my ground the best I could but was no match for the extra force that was on the other side; I fell to the hard cement floor. I could hear Nikki begin to engage someone as whoever was on top of the mattress fought to keep me under it. I shoved the perpetrator off of me and looked up to see Lorenzo fighting Nikki.

I screamed at them to stop, causing Lorenzo to freeze in his tracks long enough to take a punch from the young girl into his groin. He fell to his knees in pain while I hoisted myself back up.

A familiar voice came from behind: "Jonny?!"

I turned around and saw Dr. Earley, his suit torn and dirty. I reached down and lifted him back up to his feet while Lorenzo tried to regain his stance.

"Where's Billy?" I asked. "He was with you the last time I saw you."

"They caught us and brought us here. I don't know where they took Billy but they threw me in here with Lorenzo."

Before he could finish the escape alarm rung out through the facility. I immediately got on the radio: "Jessie…?"

Suddenly, all the doors became unlocked. I didn't like where this was going.

"JESSIE?!" I screamed into the radio.

She screamed back, "Long story just run! I'm coming down!"

More and more inmates started to exit their cells. Jessie appeared thirty seconds later running at full sprint.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I exclaimed.

"It's not me," she said breathlessly. "Someone is controlling the cells outside of the facility."

Nikki went pale.

"We need to get out of here," Lorenzo said. "Come on, we can leave through the recreation yard."

Dr. Earley shook his head, saying, "They'll have that place blocked off."

Without saying a word, I removed my gun and pointed it towards the ceiling and fired four shots. As soon as the first bullet left the chamber, chaos erupted as prisoners began to scramble away from the block through any exit they could find.

"Let's go!" I shouted. "Lorenzo, lead the way! They'll probably shoot any inmates that come out but it'll provide enough cover!"

Lorenzo nodded and made a break for it with us following closely.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire: I wouldn't have it any other way.


	64. Sixty-Two

We burst into the jail laundry room, a large open area with four industrial-sized commercial washers and dryers and numerous folding tables, while insanity ravaged throughout the facility. Jessie was in front with Lorenzo while I kept Nikki close in the back with Dr. Earley. We made it to the other side of the room which led to the corridor to the loading dock when we were met by a female deputy armed in riot gear. Jessie immediately dropped to the ground and extended her legs, performing a slide tackle like a pro FIFA athlete. The deputy's legs went horizontal as she crashed into the floor with her riot shield. Lorenzo reached down and grabbed her by the bulletproof vest before pulling her to her feet and throwing her across one of the nearby folding tables.

"Which way?!" Jessie shouted.

Lorenzo pointed to the right, saying, "This way leads to the loading dock; the other way leads to the yard."

Loading dock…

"I have an idea," I interrupted. "Come on!"

I pushed to the front and moved to the loading dock. The blasting alarm was really beginning to wear on my eardrums; the sooner we got out of that place, the better. The concrete corridor was vacant, leading me to believe that the commotion out front was causing enough trouble for the staff. However, deep down inside I knew that outside would be a whole different story. Luckily, in uniform, it would take a closer examination up close to determine that I was the intended target. At the end of the hallway was the double-doors leading to the loading dock with the office off to the side. The door to the office had been left ajar by the deputy that Jessie had taken out. I ran in and immediately threw open the key locker.

"Thank Jesus," I whispered.

The inmate transport van key was hanging up on its peg while the van itself was parked outside. The van was a 2007 Ford F350 Econoline painted like the Police Interceptor cruisers. It was used to move inmates from various facilities and worksites for those who wanted to earn some community service points and get out earlier.

Today, it was going to be our ticket out.

I turned around and looked at the weapon lockup: there were four tactical Mossberg 930 SPX shotguns under lock and key bars on the rack along with slings and ammo boxes. The locks used—Masterlock—were the highest grade in forged steel and would take all day to shoot through. I pulled open the desk drawers and quickly searched for the key. Finally, after removing the last drawer and dumping its contents out onto the floor, I found the key.

"Jonny!" Dr. Earley shouted over the alarm. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

I shoved a shotgun in his hand along with a box of shells, saying, "Just shut up and grab this."

Dr. Earley dispensed the weapons I handed him until we were all loaded up. We quickly hopped off the dock ledge and up to the van. I unlocked and opened the back where prisoners were kept—it was reinforced with steel to protect passengers from shootings, escape, and accidents. I ordered everyone but Jessie inside; Jessie was to sit up front with me. After getting my cargo situated, I climbed into the driver seat. Jessie slid into the passenger seat and began pumping shells into her shotgun.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

"One moment," I said. I picked up the radio and keyed dispatch, "County J-1 to dispatch!"

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jessie asked in a harsh whisper.

A female dispatcher came over the air: "County J-1, go ahead."

"County J-1, 10-76 at S.O., requesting assistance, code three!"

"10-4 County J-1. Attention all units, 10-76 at Knox County Jail, officers requesting assistance code three. All Knox County patrol and surrounding units, 10-93."

I turned down the radio and started the van.

"What was that all about?" Jessie asked.

"Give them something to keep them busy," I said. "Now that things are going to get hairy outside, I don't know how viable shooting everyone on sight is going to be."

I turned on the lights and siren and peeled out of the loading bay. Jessie brought her shotgun up into her lap anxiously. I could tell she was shaking slightly.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," she said after a brief pause. "What the hell is up with the masks?"

"Have to ask Dr. Earley about that, I'm afraid. Besides, I thought you've killed people before?"

Jessie didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, Jessie, I didn't mean it like that…"

"It's okay," she replied abruptly.

We sped down the street away from the jail. Multiple marked cruisers were coming in from all directions as escaped inmates either milled around the parking lot or made a break for it.

I heard myself mutter, "I hope they're okay…"

"Melissa?" Jessie asked.

"Melissa, Gwyn… Julia…"

Jessie looked away in mild embarrassment.

I looked over at her: "What is it?"

"I just… I just feel bad that I was a bitch to her. I know what she did was a long time ago and whatnot…"

"It's okay, Jessie," I said as I reached over and put my hand on top of hers. "I'm sure Julia understood what she did was really shitty, to say the least."

Jessie gave me a faint smile before turning and looking back out the window. Her expression turned to concern quickly.

"I think we're being followed," she said.

I looked in the side mirror: a marked SUV was trailing closely.

"That's the vehicle Pat was driving; the one we took earlier!" I exclaimed.

But it wasn't Pat who was driving it.

Jessie turned around in her seat and tried to peer around the back of the van. I watched in the mirror as the passenger side window slid down and an armored female positioned herself halfway out of the vehicle, donning a black cotton execution hood with cutouts for the eyes. I watched in horror as she pulled up a FN F2000 bullpup assault rifle from the seat and took aim. I immediately took a hard right onto a nearby road to prevent crossfire into downtown. The heavy van tilted with the excess weight distribution as the tires screamed and left markings on the pavement. The sports utility vehicle behind us skidded onto the road in hot pursuit.

"Can't you go any faster!" Jessie shouted.

"This thing is reinforced with steel," I explained. "It can't go as fast as a normal cruiser, especially with these hills."

"What do we do?"

The SUV was now pulling up beside of us.

"Is the glass bulletproof?" Jessie asked meekly.

Her window immediately shattered as bullets punctured the roof and outside door. Jessie cocked her shotgun and fired a shot at the attacker. The patrol unit swerved off and fell back behind us. I could hear bullets hitting the back of the van and destroying the brake lights. Chances were they were going to try and take out the tires as we were too heavy to run off the road.

I turned to Jessie as I made a hard left turn and said, "If they manage to wreck us, we're fucked."

Jessie thought momentarily before responding with, "I have an idea: can you get them in front of us?"

I looked in the rearview. The SUV was starting to come around again. I pressed the accelerator to the floor, pulling the van slowly away. The driver of the patrol unit sped up as well while his female passenger remained hanging out of the window. As the speedometer approached sixty-five miles per hour, the vehicle behind us began to try and pass once more.

"Hang on!" I shouted as I slammed both the brake and parking brake as hard as I could.

The van started to slide as Newton's law of motion took over. However, the SUV wasn't aware of our tactic until they were a quarter of a mile in front of us. They slammed on their brakes and performed a flawless J-turn, facing back towards us and accelerating to full speed. Jessie jumped out of the van and began walking towards the oncoming unit with her shotgun in hand. Bringing it up to her shoulder, she took aim and began firing, pumping out empty shells in a rhythmic pattern. The front grill of the SUV collapsed followed by a headlight; the fourth blast hit the front driver-side tire, causing the driver to swerve. The vehicle began to go off road and into the ditch. The masked femme fatale leapt as hard as she could to avoid being crushed and crash landed onto the hard pavement.

She rolled a few times before pulling herself up to face Jessie. Jessie stood still, shotgun pointed at her.

The disguised woman stood erect with her assault rifle at her side. Even though Jessie had left the passenger side door open, I couldn't make out what they were saying to each other. Whatever it was, the mystery woman was starting to get quite agitated. Before she could even consider her options, Jessie squeezed off one more shot. The woman fell backwards onto the double lines in the center of the road. Jessie reached into her pocket and slid a handful of shells into her gun before slowly approaching her downed opponent. She reached down and took the mask off and threw it aside. The woman's chest was rising and falling very rapidly; a puddle of blood began to form underneath her.

It brought back memories that were better left forgotten.

Jessie stood back up and walked over to the embankment. She cautiously looked over the side before turning back to look at me. I released the parking brake and rolled the van forward slowly. I could hear Dr. Earley banging on the wall demanding to know what was going on. I put the van in park in between the unmasked assailant and Jessie and got out. I walked around to the back and threw open the door.

"Jonny, what the fuck is going on out there?!" shouted Dr. Earley.

"Stragglers," I said calmly. "We need to get going; should be a more comfortable ride now."

Before anyone could protest I slammed the doors shut and locked them. Jessie walked up to me.

"Jonny?" she asked softly.

She was crying silently.

"Is it… is it okay if we just sit here for a minute?"

My heart broke into a million pieces inside. Any given day I would've allowed her to rest for as long as it took. Even though I knew Jessie wasn't me and didn't share the same experiences as I did, we both shared the experience of taking multiple human lives and seeing them taken right before our eyes. I also knew every second we weren't moving we were a sitting duck.

I decided to compromise.

I hugged her for a solid thirty seconds.

I backed up from her and asked, "I'm sorry it couldn't be longer."

"I know," she whispered. "I just… I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You're just human, and there's nothing wrong with that, nothing at all."

Jessie gave a small nod and returned to the passenger side of the van. I walked back to my side but stopped by the woman Jessie shot. I wasn't surprised to see it was Cynthia. What I was surprised to see was that she still had enough life in her to say my name.

She whispered, "Come… closer…"

I got down on my knees and came in close. The smell of blood and gunpowder was overwhelming.

"What is this about, Cynthia?" I asked. "Why does Judith want me? Why does she want everyone else dead?"

Cynthia gasped for air.

With her last breath, she looked at me directly in the eye and said with all the force she could muster, "You're her son…"

Cynthia closed her eyes.

"…it's time to come home."

Then she died.


	65. Sixty-Three

I marched to the back of the van and threw open the doors. With my handgun drawn, I ordered Dr. Earley out and slammed the doors shut. I grabbed his shoulder and threw him against the vehicle, pointing my gun directly at his head.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" I screamed.

The commotion had caused Jessie to leave her seat and come around the vehicle.

Dr. Earley put his hands up, saying, "What're you talking about?"

"Judith Waterston thinks I'm her son!"

Jessie stood back in disbelief.

"How long have you known!" I continued.

Dr. Earley took a deep breath, saying, "Since you were three, but it's never been… Jonny, I swear to God, we were trying to get to you first."

"Who?!"

"Rachel, me, Garry… but Judith must've found out. She was supposed to think that your mother was dead."

I stepped back a little and asked, "When did this start?"

Dr. Earley wiped the sweat off his brow and replied, "You've probably seen a file on a run-in between Garry, Pam, and Daniel Mullinax in a soliciting arrest by Sergeant Carpenter; that wasn't an accident. Sergeant Carpenter has one of Jeremiah's implants in him while lower ranking officers are merely susceptible to the DR protein."

"DR? What does that stand for?"

"Deep Recognizance. Each subject that required an implant was assigned a number."

"Let me guess… I'm DR-128?"

Dr. Earley seemed surprised.

"Yes," he said. "How did you know?"

"The security tape from the bookstore where Pam and Lorenzo got the book referenced someone dubbed that. Since the book was addressed to me, that kind of narrowed it down. So, do I have the implant?"

Dr. Earley nodded, saying, "But, your series is a different sample."

"What do you mean?"

"Units twenty through twenty-nine use a modified version of Jeremiah's original design. The only thing I can tell you is that it's lodged right below your corpus callosum, near Broca's area."

"I have no goddamn idea where that is, just that it's in my brain," I replied flatly.

"That's good enough, really. The new design was unveiled twelve years ago. Sergeant Carpenter is DR-120, the first to undergo the trial run."

"Did you know he arrested Garry, Pam, and Pam's husband, Daniel, at a Motel Six about ten years ago?" I asked.

"That wasn't exactly a coincidence," Dr. Earley explained. "In fact, it was a setup. We wanted Wade there to obtain some information."

"A setup? You mean someone tipped him off intentionally?"

"Yes. We needed to add a failsafe to his implant to make sure he didn't try anything cute."

I lowered my gun, not liking the feeling that was coming on: "Cute?"

"Jonny, did you know that Judith's original intention was to have Wade capture you and bring you straight to her right then and there on the day you got the call at Garry's house? Pam Hoyle triggered him and gave him new instructions, just enough to keep you safe long enough for us to work out an escape plan, before she killed Garry and herself."

I put my gun back in its holster. I felt like vomiting all over the pavement.

"Look, we can go over everything when we get to Canada," Dr. Earley continued. "But the fact of the matter is: we need to get the hell out of here. The girl needs medical attention, otherwise we're going to have another body to dispose of. So whatever loose ends you have to tie up, tie them up quickly, because we need to become ghosts."

I nodded my head silently. I motioned for Jessie to drive while I walked Dr. Earley to the rear of the van.

"We're going to stop by Wade's house," I said. "Wade's wife, Lori, has something she wanted to give me before she disappears. I think it may be Gary's computer. If it is, we can just rip the hard drive out and get the hell out of there. The house is probably being watched, so we're going to have to do something."

"I think I may be able to help," Dr. Earley said in response. "Jonny, one thing that Steve wanted you to do was check out the book _I, Claudius_ sometime, right?"

"Yeah…"

"It's about a man who gets appointed into a seat of power while everyone around him dies against his will. I think that may be what Judith is trying to do is make you the head of NEO."

"NEO?" I asked meekly.

" _Nusquam esse Orbis_ , or, _Nowhere in the World_. That is the group that our civilizations belong to and do not realize it since it is unseen, hence it's nowhere."

I opened the back door silently. Dr. Earley climbed in and sat beside Nikki.

"Is there any phrases that work on me? Do I become a mindless drone?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, Jonny," Dr. Earley said sympathetically. "If there is, I don't know it. The fact that they didn't just use it to have you march into Judith's arms by yourself tells me that they didn't get to that point with you yet."

I shut the door and secured it. Returning to the cab, I climbed into the passenger seat. Jessie looked over at me mournfully. I scooted over and rested my head on her chest, her badge leaving an imprint in my cheek. Jessie held me tightly.

"I just want to wake up," I whispered. "I just want to wake up… or go to sleep… sleep forever…"

And never wake up.


	66. Sixty-Four

The Carpenters lived in the town of Cushing roughly ten miles southwest of the Sheriff's Department. Their house, a single-story white bungalow with dark green shutters and black roof sitting on two acres, was directly across from the Cushing Community School and within walking distance of the town hall. I instructed Jessie to pull behind the town hall and into the woods. She parked in a small clearing and turned the engine off.

"If we walk through the woods, we should be okay," I said. "I'm taking Lorenzo with me."

"Good God, why?" she asked with disdain.

"He needs a new outfit: that jumpsuit is going to stick out like a tranny at a swimsuit competition. Keep watch over the other two. If anything happens, get the hell out of here."

Jessie protested, "No, Jonny: if anything happens, I'm coming to get you. We're going to get through this together."

I sighed, knowing that I didn't have the strength to fight a losing battle, and exited the van. I walked around to the back and opened the door.

"Lorenzo, you're with me," I said. "We're going to get you out of that jumpsuit and into something more appealing."

"Thank God," he said as he climbed out.

I shut the doors and we started walking through the woods. I thought about what Dr. Earley told me as opposed to what messages were left on my voicemail back at the office: Shawn, the lab technician, told me that Wade's prints were all over the gun that killed Pam and Garry. I don't know what Dr. Earley was trying to hide, but I didn't like it. The fact that that his information on the program that I was involved in—the "DR" program—conflicted with what Lorenzo told me the other day also didn't sit well in the pit of my stomach.

What if it was Wade trying to protect me?

"Lorenzo?" I asked. "Who sent you to the bookstore with Pam Hoyle?"

"I was staying in Woldoboro in the next county over," he said. "An old girlfriend that also worked on the project was putting me up. She was a shrink; name was Windy Hull."

I punched myself internally.

Sighing, I said, "Go on."

"I'd been staying with her for a while, trying to keep a low profile and looking for Pam. Garry called me and told me to meet him at Moody's Diner off Highway One; he showed up with Pam. They wouldn't tell me how bad things were, only that you were going to be in some deep shit. Garry said if I helped them then they could put me somewhere the department couldn't get me, at least for a long time. Pam said she needed me to be a 'deadbolt key' for her. We call individuals who require two inputs 'deadbolts' because it requires two keys for one lock; it was a prototype they tried using earlier but it was much too cumbersome. I asked Pam what the book was for but she wouldn't tell me."

"What happened after that?"

Lorenzo rested against a tree and said, "Windy started acting strange: she started leaving the room and making phone calls. I tried to listen in when I could but I just couldn't make it out. The other day, she brings home this young blonde kid. Honestly, he looked like he was barely a sophomore in high school. I stayed out of sight and kept an eye on him. She gave him a shot and programmed him to the sheriff's office. I left the house without her knowing and checked into a bed and breakfast near Rockland."

"I see," I replied. "That kid that she programmed, was that…"

"Yeah," he interrupted. "That was the kid that Steve blew a hole in."

"Tell me more about these 'keys' and what purpose they serve."

Lorenzo wiped his brow, saying, "I'll tell you what I know: the keys are supposed to be ones put in charge."

"In charge of what?" I asked.

"Think of them as management positions. Your dad, for instance, is a key—a 'governor' to be more exact. Keys control 'locks' which are those that are subdued by the hypnotic suggestion. From what I could tell, they were to be immune from triggers and shit; you know, like MKULTRA films and trigger words. But I think someone put in a failsafe."

"Failsafe?"

"I couldn't hear very well from inside the van," he continued. "But I heard Earley tell you about the DR series. He is right: you are one of the DR candidates. I don't know much about your file; but have you ever wondered why you and your immediate family would be assigned a bodyguard from a federal subdivision of the CIA?"

I looked down at the ground. In my younger years, I considered Lorenzo aloof and nothing but hired muscle. In retrospect, that was a very poor analysis on my part.

"Look, Quest," Lorenzo said empathetically. "I know you're desperate for answers. I was hoping that I could've gotten to Pam first. But now is not the time nor the place for it. We have to keep moving. To be honest, I do feel bad for you, even though at one time we were enemies. There's a lot that you don't know about that happened back then, not even Jeremiah or Julia, that I was involved in."

"At least answer me this: why are you helping me?" I asked.

"It's what's right. That, and I feel like a complete douchebag for what I did to you and your family back then; I know I was a real pain in the ass. I guess this is my way of trying to atone for that."

I gave a small smile.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but… thanks, Lorenzo."

We fist bumped and then turned our attention back to the house.

"One more thing," Lorenzo said.

"Yeah?"

"If anything ever happens to me, take care of Julia. I don't have any children and my family is long forgotten. She was the closest thing I had to any sort of living sibling."

I nodded.

He wiped his eyes.

"And tell her I'm sorry… for everything…"


	67. Sixty-Five

I gently pushed open the back door and called out, "Lori?"

There was noise coming from the living room. I took out my gun and slowly entered the kitchen area with Lorenzo close behind me. The kitchen was quaint with soft dark cream walls and solid oak cabinets; it seemed untouched. I slowly crept towards the living room. I stopped at the threshold where the linoleum floor gave way to plush carpet and peered around the corner wall.

The sound was a revolver's cylinder being spun and then slapped back into place.

I slowly walked forward with my weapon leading the way. I stopped when I locked eyes with the unexpected guest.

It was Billy Beam.

"Billy?" I stammered, lowering my gun. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Watching some TV," he said in a distant tone.

I walked further into the living room while Lorenzo stopped at the kitchen doorway. The living room was a mess of strewn ornaments and decorations; the leather furniture was moved awkwardly. The only thing left stationary was the high-end entertainment center with a large flat-screen TV. I looked at the television: it appeared to be footage from a body camera. There was no sound but I knew what was going on. The wearer was walking down a hallway of someone's house and into the master bedroom. Daniel Mullinax was frantically searching through the nightstand drawer, possibly searching for a weapon, before looking up ad putting his hands in the air. I could see his mouth move, possibly pleading for his life, before the iron sights of a firearm came into the top frame and opened fire. Mullinax fell back onto the nightstand and took it down with him as the shooter walked around the bed and pumped three more bullets into his head.

"What the hell is this?!" I demanded.

Billy didn't answer.

The view panned around the room quickly and then back to the hallway. Whoever was wearing this thing was desperate to get to the front of the house. Barreling out the door, the cameraman watched as Patricia Mullinax scrambled to load Gwyn and her baby sister into a green Oldsmobile. The gun came back into view and began firing before the video stopped. Billy restarted the recording on the DVD player.

I shouted once more: "Billy?!"

His face contorted and became strained.

"Jonny?" I heard Lorenzo whisper to me from behind. "I think he's fighting it. Someone must've unlocked him."

I went to Billy and grabbed his shoulders; I began begging him to keep fighting it and to return to reality. He began to cry.

"Jonny, I killed that woman," he sobbed. "I killed that woman they found in my trunk. That wasn't the Bostic girl… it was the psychiatrist… he knows!"

Billy pointed at Lorenzo.

"I couldn't fight it, man! I just couldn't! I tried!"

"Billy!" I shouted, trying to get him to focus. "What's this video about?! Who unlocked you?!"

He shook his head and removed something from underneath his posterior.

"What's this?"

"The hard drive," Billy said. "I took it out of… Garry's computer… Wade's trunk. I made sure Lori and Aria got out… You need to get some food, get out of here… Go to the hospital, Dr. Corbin can help..."

He handed me the drive. I looked at him and asked, "What about you? Come with us."

Billy shook his head and gripped the arms of the recliner.

He wailed, "I can't, Jonny… I can't take it anymore, now that I know…"

Billy immediately pointed his gun at me. I backed up in disbelief as he rose and walked over to the DVD player. Ejecting the optical disc while keeping his weapon drawn on me, Billy threw the plastic medium onto the ground and fired three rounds into it, shattering it. My ears began ringing from the loud gunshots. With one last look at me, Billy brought his gun up and said, "This will hurt someone."

Before I could react, he pointed the weapon back at his forehead and pulled the trigger. The back of his skull blew open with brain matter splattering all over the wall and chair behind him. The officer's limp body fell to the floor with a heavy thud. I stood there in shock while Lorenzo pressed himself against the wall.

I whispered, "Oh my God…"

"Fuck!" shouted Lorenzo. "Come on, Quest, we've got to get moving, now! Someone's liable to call the cops!"

He ran down the hallway towards the bedroom. I could hear him tearing through Wade's closet. I walked over to Billy's body and got down on my knees. He had fallen backwards; his eyes were wide open staring into the void. I relieved him of his weapon and searched his body, recovering a cell phone and two speed loaders for the revolver. I stood back up and checked the cell phone call log. Unfortunately, either Billy or someone controlling Billy had taken the time to empty all previous entries.

I heard Lorenzo call from the back bedroom, "Jonny?"

I made my way through the house into the master bedroom where Lorenzo was standing in front of a dresser. He had changed out of his jumpsuit and into a neon green polo and blue jeans.

 _Great, I'm running around with a giant highlighter_ , I thought.

Lorenzo handed me a note left by Lori. I quickly scanned it and stopped.

"The deposit came from Quest Enterprises?" I asked aloud.

"Thought it'd be something of interest to you," Lorenzo said. "I found some clothes for the girl."

I nodded silently. I took out the phone that I took from Billy's corpse and dialed Dad's office line.

Dad greeted, "This is Benton."

"Dad!" I shouted. "Are you okay?!"

My father was a little taken aback but quickly realized that it was me on the line.

"Jonny," he said in a frantic whisper. "Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"What the fuck is going on?!" I exclaimed. "Why did you give the Carpenters a shitload of cash?"

"They needed some help to get to safety, Son; they're targets now like we are."

"No shit," I sighed. "Did you know that Judith thinks I'm her son?"

Dad was silent.

I gritted my teeth: "Figures. So, when did you figure you were going to let me in on that little detail? In my next goddamn Christmas card?!"

"Jonny, I…"

"No," I cut him off. "I was told that I need to get to Montreal. What the fuck is in Montreal?"

Now it was Dad's turn to sigh in despair.

"Do you remember the real estate company that owned Garry Barber's house?" he asked. "The holdings company is actually a shell corporation. They keep an office in the city of Quebec. The owner is a multinational entity known as Orbis."

"As in Nusquam esse Orbis?" I asked.

"So you know."

"I'm getting real tired of having to find this shit out on my own, Dad. I don't like being the person of interest and being the last to know."

I could hear Dad's voice breaking as he said, "I know, Jonny, I'm—"

"No, you don't know. Is Hadji and Melana safe?" I demanded.

"Yes."

"They damn well better be. Or else I'm going to burn not only the fucking family business to the ground but every single person that gets in my way until Judith is nothing but a heap of flesh on the interstate. You get me?"

"I get you," Dad said softly.

"I'll be in touch."

I ended the call and slipped the phone in my pocket. I needed to find out who was the shooter in the video Billy was watching. My stomach, on the other hand, reminded me that the little morsels I had consumed during the day was not going to cut it.

"Come on," I told Lorenzo.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Hospital. I've got an emergency doctor's appointment."


	68. Sixty-Six

A knock at the front door startled me and Lorenzo. We exchanged suspicious looks as we stood still and waited, hoping that whoever was knocking would go away after a few minutes of silence.

We held our breath.

The front door was then kicked open. Lorenzo stepped back into the closet and shut the door, leaving a small crack allowing him to look out. I silently dropped to the floor and scurried under the king size bed, pushing the overstuffed comforter out of the way. I took out my gun and waited. Padded footsteps echoed softly throughout the house as each room was checked.

The footsteps grew louder. They stopped in the entrance of the bedroom.

I prayed that they would go the opposite direction.

Naturally, they didn't.

The intruder slowly made its way over to the dresser and started opening drawers, searching for something. I pushed aside the comforter slightly and peered out. Deputy Kenneth Dowdle was busy pushing aside clothes in his search for some unknown artifact in Wade and Lori's personal effects. I decided to find out what was going on. Silently sliding out from underneath the bed on the side with the doorway, I stood up and aimed my weapon at his back. Clearing my throat, Kenny stopped and slowly turned around.

"Hands in the air, Kenny," I commanded. "What are you doing here?"

He sneered, "None of your goddamn business."

I aimed slightly above his head and fired a round. The vanity mirror attached to the dresser shattered from the bullet impact. Kenny ducked down in fear.

"WHAT THE FUCK, JONNY?!" he screamed.

"Wrong answer," I said coldly. "Care to try again?"

Kenny looked around frantically, trying to decide his next move. I pulled the hammer back on my 1911, cocking it. The deputy pressed himself back into the dresser.

"L-look," he stammered. "I was just here to see if Lori and Aria were still here, okay?"

"And you thought they would be hiding under Wade's boxers?" I asked. "Do I look like that big of a fucking idiot?"

He put his hands up in front of him and said, "Okay, okay… they're sending another janitor since the Cleaner went AWOL and two of the top janitors are dead. One of them is missing… a girl…"

"Keep talking."

"This one is bringing their own team, dubbed 'Hazmat' since you're such a delicate package."

"Is it a man?" I continued. "Or a woman?"

"I think it's a woman, but I'm not sure," he replied.

I nodded curtly. Lorenzo emerged from the closet quietly. Kenny looked over and narrowed his gaze.

" _You_?!" he scowled.

I barked, "Shut the fuck up, Kenny. What happened the day Pam Hoyle killed herself and Garry Barber?"

Kenny returned his frightened gaze to me.

"Wade told me to wait for you at the driveway," he explained. "He had already arrived at the scene. He said I was to keep outside traffic out and only let in personnel. That's all I know, I swear!"

"How many people are watching this house right now?"

"Me and Lesley, that's all."

I took a few steps forward and pressed the barrel of my gun into his forehead.

"You sure about that?" I asked softly.

Kenny started to cry and nodded fervently.

"Radio Lesley and tell him to come in."

Kenny did as he was told. We moved to the living room and waited. Corporal Lesley Revels, a young deputy only two years younger than me with a bald head and hefty build, entered the house casually and was quickly subdued by Lorenzo. We removed their utility belts and led them to the garage. Lori's car was missing—as expected—but Wade's car, a red and incredibly dirty Mazda sedan, was parked in its usual spot. I ordered the deputies to lie on their stomachs and get underneath the car. I handcuffed the two to the transmission.

"Now you can give it a fifteen-point inspection," I said.

I reached into Kenny's breast pocket and removed his Virginia Slims cigarettes and lighter. I handed one to Lorenzo and lit us both.

I called over my shoulder, "Thanks for the smokes."

Lorenzo and I left the way we came. I carried Kenny's belt while Lorenzo carried Lesley's; the extra guns, ammo, and other goodies would probably prove useful. Upon arriving back at the van, Jessie had the engine running and the air conditioning turned on high. I opened the back and let Lorenzo climb back in with the other passengers after he handed over his gun and belt. After securing our cargo, I climbed into the cab.

"What happened?" Jessie asked.

I sighed, "Billy's dead. I ran into two deputies, too, that were apparently looking for something; they said that another janitor has been dispatched. Said it was a woman and she's bringing a hazmat team since I'm a special package."

Jessie gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Billy was watching something when we entered… it was a bodycam video of the night Daniel Mullinax was shot, taken from the shooter's perspective. He destroyed the DVD before he killed himself."

"Right in front of you?!" Jessie gasped.

I nodded silently.

"Oh, God, Jonny I'm so sorry…"

"I'm getting used to it…"

That statement made me die a little more inside.

"Anyway," I continued. "Dad gave Lori a shitload of cash. He knows that Judith thinks I'm her son. Getting answers out of him is like trying to get blood from a turnip, as Wade would say. The organization owned the house Barber was in as well as my shrink's office. Speaking of which, Billy said that he was forced to kill her under duress. Lorenzo calls it 'unlocking.' I call it 'fucking insane.'"

The redhead wiped her eyes and sighed, "Where to now?"

"Billy said that we need to go to the hospital. Said that Justin might be able to help us get across the border. I think where Reno wants us to meet is one of the prime locations for this place but I can't be sure. Oh, and I recovered this…"

I showed Jessie the hard drive.

"Too bad we don't have a computer you can hot-swap it with," she said.

I thought for a minute.

I looked up and replied, "I have an idea. First, we need to get to the hospital. For one thing, the last thing I need is for that girl to die before I can thoroughly interview her."

"What do you mean 'thoroughly'…?"

My face darkened a little.

"There are some things that go on behind closed doors you'd be better off not knowing, Jess," I said softly.

"Jonny…"

"I don't like it either."

Although, to be fair, in some instances, where appropriate, I did.


	69. Sixty-Seven

I directed Jessie towards the emergency department. An ambulance was in the bay quickly unloading a patient. This would provide enough commotion to cover our sneaky entrance. We parked in the nearest emergency parking spot and exited. I opened up the back and ushered my cargo out onto the asphalt. I removed my gun from its holster and warned them that any funny business would result in them being an immediate catcher for a forty-five caliber slug. I handcuffed the girl behind her back roughly, causing her to yell in pain.

"Jesus Christ, watch it, will you?!" she snarled.

"Shut the fuck up," I barked. "Move."

I grabbed her by the back of her collar and led the way behind the paramedics. Once inside the emergency room bay, I noticed Justin standing at the nurse's station. The on-call emergency physician received the latest patient in the back amongst all the shouting of orders, statistics, and patient status by triage staff. Justin broke away from the counter and directed us towards a private examination room. The room was a pastel blue color with a row of examination instruments hanging on the wall above a cushioned bench. I helped Nikki up onto the brown leather seat as Justin shut the door. Jessie took a seat in the corner while Dr. Earley and Lorenzo stood watch at the windowless door.

Dr. Corbin was a clean-cut young doctor, only a few years older than me. With light brown hair and sparkling green eyes, his forming beard reminded me of a young version of Dad. He gave me a defeated look.

"Jonny, praise God you made it here alive," he breathed. "I heard about your tenants jumping rent at the jail."

I shook my head and wiped my brow, saying, "You have no idea. I'm just going to come right out and assume you're in on this, too, since everyone else is."

Justin took out a prescription pad and began jotting down a note.

"Not as much as you think," he said, handing me the pad. I looked down at the note: he had written that it was not safe to talk in the exam room. Justin walked over to the bench and examined Nikki's shoulder after donning some latex gloves and putting on a face mask.

"Looks like he took a small chunk out of you," he said. "Bullet missed the bone and just tore out some fatty tissue. I'll have a nurse come in and stitch you up."

Nikki remained silent, instead opting to glare at me.

"How long will that take?" I asked. "I need to ask her some questions."

Justin took his gloves and mask off.

He shook his head, saying, "Depends. We've got a full load today and your jailbreak isn't making anything any easier. If you arrived fifteen minutes earlier you would've seen our lockdown."

"Is your security patrolling the premises?"

"Yeah. I heard word that the sheriff's department will be up soon to check also."

Justin motioned towards the door.

"Come on," he said. "I need to speak to you privately. Does anyone else need to be checked out?"

The others shook their head "No." I gave Jessie a nod as I followed Justin out into the emergency department. We walked past numerous bays where patients were being treated. Various machines beeped, alarmed, and carried on, unaware of the ensuing madness outside the hospital walls. We proceeded down a long corridor. Pictures of various events and medical staff decorated the walls.

"In here," Justin said, opening a door on the left.

I looked up at the sign on the wall: it was the chapel.

We took a seat on a back pew. The chapel was the size of somebody's living room with eight pews total: four on the left and four on the right. A wooden podium stood at the front with a stained glass window of Christ on the back wall. Justin and I lowered our heads to keep quiet.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Less chance of being eavesdropped in here."

I whispered back, "Don't mention it. So… how deep are you?"

"Let's just say that it's in my best interest to mind my own business. I'm treated on a 'need-to-know' basis, especially with Dr. Earley's group."

"Do you know about what's apparently in my head?" I asked. "I mean… I don't even know if it's real…"

"It's there, all right," Justin said. "I saw the x-rays."

"You did? Where are they?"

"Sadly, not with your medical records. Do you remember when you had meningitis?"

I nodded, "Yeah, why? Don't tell me they did it then."

"Not quite," he explained. "The initial implant caused inflammation of your meninges. You had meningitis but it was not caused by bacteria—it was caused by some shoddy neurological work. The actual diagnosis was encephalitis: inflammation due to the introduction of a foreign substance."

"What do you mean? What kind of foreign substance?"

"Roche, out of Switzerland, created a neural implant as a means to try and control diseases which affect the brain, such as epilepsy, depression, cognitive diseases that were degenerative to the central nervous system. Earley's boss wanted to investigate its use in controlling access to memory and consequence management."

"What's consequence management?" I asked.

"Regret suppression," Justin said. "The ability to perform actions without fear of the consequences. For instance, stealing something valuable from another person…"

I sighed, "Or shooting them."

Justin nodded solemnly.

"I'm sorry, Jonny," he continued. "Upper management in that department developed a framework for memory control and consequence suppression. However, they also wanted the ability to quickly control someone without the use of the standard code words or phrases. Have you heard of the Deep Recognizance project?"

"Yes. I'm DR-128."

"Then you know. The idea is that individuals are bonded to particular control mechanisms other than voice, whether it be something as simple as an e-mail, a text message, or even just seeing the person's face. Your one of the few that produce a protein that defeats this, however, so they have to resort to the original code word and phrase combination. The chemicals introduced into the food and water supply in this region act in the same way flunitrazepam works."

"You mean to tell me they've been dropping Rohypnol on everyone?" I asked.

Justin nodded, saying, "A modified version of it. In the same way that it lowers one's consciousness, this strain attacks the person's sub-consciousness. It's a safe to speculate that at least eighty percent of the people in this county, if not more, can be triggered by the right keywords, me included if I haven't been already."

He looked around the chapel to make sure we were still alone.

"Anyway, let's talk about your way out," Justin whispered tensely. "In about fifteen minutes, Lifelight will be landing. It will take you to Hôpital de l'Enfant-Jésus in Quebec City. It'll take eighty minutes to get there. After that, you're on your own. Aimee didn't tell me what your plan was."

I sat back and almost shouted, "Wait, Aimee?!"

"Yeah, Aimee Bostic. Said you know her?"

"She's supposed to be in Florida. Goddammit… I should've known. Did she leave a number?"

"Surprisingly… yes."

Justin reached into his white smock and pulled out one of his business cards. Written on the back was a phone number. I slipped it into my pocket.

"Thanks, Justin," I said. "Is it okay if we hit the cafeteria before we leave? We haven't eaten anything all day and we're starving."

"Sure," he said. "Come on."

We started walking to the cafeteria. I made a mental note that Nikki was not the only female I would need to fiercely interrogate.

If any of us lived that long.


	70. Sixty-Eight

I pushed open the door to the examination room. Nikki was getting stitched up by a female nurse with black hair and dark blue scrubs.

"Justin said he'll take you to the cafeteria to get something to eat and use the bathroom," I said to the others. "I'll watch Nikki."

Lorenzo and Dr. Earley immediately left their position at the wall and exited the room. Jessie stopped and looked at Nikki one last time.

"She give you any trouble?" I asked quietly.

"She never said a word," Jessie replied. "Just… kept her eyes to the floor. Looks like she had something on her mind."

I put my hand on Jessie's back as she left the room. The nurse had to remove Nikki's top and pull down one of her bra straps in order to tend to the wound. Jessie must've used her handcuff key off her utility belt to remove the restraints and then reapply them while the nurse did her work. I took a seat.

"There we go," the nurse said as she finished wrapping bandage tape around the girl's shoulder. "Try to keep it dry and change it every twelve hours."

She turned to me and asked, "One of your prisoners?"

I nodded, saying, "Yeah; I don't know what facility she's going to be sent to yet. I'll give Dr. Corbin all of her identification before we head back."

The nurse smiled and left silently. As the door shut behind her, I stood up and walked over to my prisoner. Nikki still looked down at the floor, motionless. I gently picked up her white bra strap and placed it back gently on her shoulder. The young girl winced slightly. I removed my handcuff key and removed her shackles in the back.

"Let me see your arm," I said.

I guided her limb through her shirt.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

I crossed my arms and asked, "Doing what?"

"You let me live. You must want something."

"Indeed, I do. But that's beside the point."

"That Steve man killed Liam," she said a little louder. Looking up at me, I could see the swollen eye that I punched earlier almost shut. The area around the socket had turned a deep shade of purple.

"The nurse said I probably have a broken orbital socket," Nikki said.

I sighed and put my hands in my pockets.

I apologized, "I'm sorry… I really am. I shouldn't have roughed you up like that."

She shook her head: "It's okay… I probably deserved it."

"I can tell you're not used to these situations."

Nikki gave me a puzzled look.

"I know you're not a killer," I explained. "Because if you were, you would've done a better job back at the house when I retrieved Gwyn."

"It was my first assignment," she replied. Her gaze drifted back down to the floor.

I leaned back on a nearby supply counter and asked, "You wisp-wasp between being extremely arrogant to a scared little girl. Do you have a problem showing weakness?"

"Weakness gets you killed," Nikki answered. "I… I don't know how to feel. It's like I have these spurts of anger and then a flood of bad thoughts just pushes me back."

"What's up with the masks?"

"They tell us to wear them because it makes it harder to identify us if the public sees us."

"Someone said it's because you're trained not to like seeing yourself."

She turned away towards the wall.

"Ashamed?" I pressed.

Nikki turned to face me this time, her face growing colder.

"No!" she shouted. "I hate who I am… what I am. I just wanted to get out. They said if I did good then I could leave. Whether that's true or not, I'm not sure; but I would find a way out."

I let my arms fall to my side and asked, "Who told you that?"

"Does it matter?"

I sighed in agreement.

"Tell me about Judith," I said. "Tell me everything you know about her: her appearance, her personality, everything from every interaction you've had with her."

Nikki held herself around her ribcage.

"I've only talked to her a few times," she replied. "She's about that red-haired girl's height, blue eyes, long straight blonde hair. She's really pretty… She was always nice to me whenever we talked."

"What did you talk about?"

"Believe it or not, she'd talk about you and how much she wants to see you. I don't quite understand why you don't go see her; then again, I don't quite understand why we were sent to go get you. They would never tell me why we had to be so violent."

"It's a long story," I sighed.

"So what now?" she asked.

I pulled out my wallet and removed some cash. I handed it to her along with my business card and said, "Get a cab, go to the Quest Enterprises headquarters in Rockport. It's off main street, a fairly good sized building. Hand this to the lady at the front desk and tell her you need to see Dr. Quest. When you see him, tell him to keep you safe. If he asks questions, tell him he can take it up with me later. Got it?"

Nikki nodded and slowly took the money and card.

"Now get out of here," I ordered. "And whatever you do, don't draw attention to yourself. Stay off the streets and don't talk to anybody you don't have to. Got it?"

She nodded again before slowly pushing herself off the bench. Nikki opened the door and turned to face me one last time briefly.

"Be safe," she said quietly before exiting.

As I began to sit on the bench to take a load off, the door flung open. Jessie ran in, almost breathless. I immediately got back up.

"We need… to go," she breathed. "They're here…"

"Who? The helicopter?" I asked.

She shook her head, "No… the SWAT team… we had just gotten done… they're searching the hospital. Earley is going to try and create a diversion, said go on without him…"

"Shit!" I shouted.

"Jonny, we've got no time… the copter should be here any moment. Lorenzo is waiting in the ambulance bay as a lookout."

Justin ran in behind Jessie.

"Jonny," he said firmly. "The chopper is going to be here in three minutes according to dispatch. We need to get you ready to board quickly and quietly."

I could hear gunfire coming from the other side of the hospital towards the front. Justin quickly looked around the emergency room.

"Come on, now!" he yelled.

We followed him out to the ambulance bay and crouched down behind a trash can.

"I've got to get back in there," Justin explained. "Jonny, whatever happens… I'm sorry it had to happen to you. I'll try to help you the best I can from here but I'm sure my resources will be cut off soon once they realize you're not in the states anymore. Good luck."

Justin stood back up and reentered the hospital. I could hear loud moaning and crying from inside the emergency room. Jessie held my hand. Lorenzo was on the other side of the bay with his gun drawn.

"We'll need to ditch our uniforms before we exit," I said. "Otherwise, we'll stick out like a sore thumb. I don't know what to do about our guns, yet."

Lorenzo tossed an empty medical bag over to me.

"Will that help?" he asked.

"Perfect," I replied.

I could hear the faint sound of helicopter rotors approaching.

"Thank God," Jessie said with a sigh of relief.

"We're not out of the woods yet, Jess…"

Three bullets pierced the automatic doors leading into the hospital. More screaming and gunfire could be heard. Lorenzo peered inside.

"What the… he's got deputies firing upon other deputies?!" he exclaimed.

Dr. Earley had triggered some SWAT team members and turned them against their own like his own personal bodyguards.

The helicopter started to touch down.

I pulled Jessie up and screamed, "Come on, LET'S GO!"

We ran as hard as we could towards the landing pad outside the parking lot. I turned to see Dr. Earley hobble through the automatic sliding doors before collapsing onto his face. He remained motionless.

Lorenzo pulled open the side of the Lifeflight of Maine helicopter door and allowed Jessie and I to enter.

"Come on, Lorenzo!" I shouted over the rotor blades. "Get in!"

"No!" he shouted back. "You need someone to stay behind and help coordinate things back here! I'll find your father!"

"Lorenzo!"

"Jonny, it's okay!" Lorenzo reassured me. "I'll hold them off while you get away!"

I looked into his tired gray eyes and gave a solemn nod.

Lorenzo held out his fist.

I gave him one last fist bump before he shut the door.

As we ascended, I watched from the window as he looked up at the helicopter briefly before turning and running back towards the hospital.

"Be safe," I whispered.


	71. Sixty-Nine

I slammed my fist into a metal cabinet holding medical supplies and cursed.

"Jonny?" Jessie asked as she sat down beside me. "What happened? Where's Lorenzo going? And the girl?"

"Earley seems to have gotten shot. I gave Nikki some cash and told her to go to Dad's office. Lorenzo… said he's going to stay behind; going to try and make it to Dad."

I looked around the cabin. The helicopter was slightly cramped with various monitors and equipment. We were sitting on a bright blue stretcher the patient would be strapped to. I motioned to Jessie to take a seat on one of the two paramedic seats on the other side and joined her.

"One of the pilots said there's a duffel bag with a change of clothes we can use," my female cohort said.

I got onto the floor of the cabin and looked underneath the stretcher. I pulled out a black Adidas gym bag and dumped its contents. Jessie started sorting through it.

"Looks like we get shorts," she said.

She handed me a pair of expensive Van Heusen khaki cargo shorts and a Perry Ellis two-button pique-colored polo.

"I didn't know we were shooting a JCPenny catalog," I commented offhandedly. "What about shoes? I'm going to look pretty silly walking around with these work boots on."

Jessie shoved a pair of sneakers into my lap.

She stopped and looked up at me, saying, "There's a note…"

I looked over at her, puzzled. She picked up a torn piece of steno book paper.

"Hope these are your size," she read aloud. "Love, Mom."

Jessie handed me the paper quickly, knowing that I would be desperate to analyze it. I looked at the handwriting.

I whispered, "Goddamn son-of-a-bitch…"

"Jonny?"

I wiped my eyes.

"That's Mom's handwriting, Jess," I said. "It… it has to be…"

Jessie put her hands on my arm, trying to pull me back into reality, saying, "Jonny…"

I shook my head: "No, I know, dammit, I know it's hers… look…"

I removed my wallet from my back pocket and fished around inside behind my license. I pulled out a small photo of my mother and flipped it over. On the back was her full name, Rachel Evelyn Wildey, and a note: "Forever and a day I will love you." Jessie took the photo and compared it to the note. She let out an inconclusive sigh.

"It's close, maybe too close, but I'm no handwriting expert," she explained. "The way these people operate they could have someone that mimics handwriting flawlessly."

I ran my hands through my hair.

"I need to see Reno," I said, frustrated. "He's working with Mom… he knows where she is… he probably knows where they all are. Shit…"

Jessie lightly rubbed my back and I rested my head in my hands.

I broke the silence after a few minutes, "I'd like to know what was in that yearbook."

"What?" Jessie asked.

"My yearbook. Remember how I said someone removed some pages? And I asked you to check your dad's house to find yours? Did you ever find it?"

"Yeah, about that," she said. "Pages were missing in mine as well. I asked Dad about it and he doesn't know. I doubt Elena would know anything about it."

I couldn't help but smile a little.

"You think she's too stupid to know anything about it?" I asked cheekily. "What have you got against that woman, anyway?"

Jessie rolled her eyes and said, "I _really_ don't want to think about her right now…"

"We've got a lot of time to kill. It'll help me take my mind off things for a bit so I can focus better. I won't do Melissa or anyone else any good if I get my head stuck up my ass and get shot."

She gave me a look I hadn't seen in years before looking ahead.

"You remember how I would get when Daddy would date, right?" Jessie asked.

"Of course," I replied. "You were about as happy as a nymphomaniac at a convent."

"I think he saw how it was affecting me. I mean, I've always been the living embodiment of a 'daddy's girl.' He was starting to get serious with one woman who I despised. She was so childish and demanded his attention all the time. I think he was genuinely considering making her a permanent addition. But he put me first and broke it off. I was so happy but at the same time I saw how much it hurt him… I felt like a complete dickheaded-bitch-monster. But we got to spend more time together because of it and I loved that. When I told him I was joining the Marine Corps…"

Jessie trailed off. I waited patiently for her to work up the nerve to continue.

"When I wanted to join the Corps, I think he felt like it was now or never. Though, sometimes I wonder…"

"What's that?" I asked.

"I wonder if he had been seeing Elena prior to that and was keeping it a secret? You know, so he wouldn't hurt me?"

I held Jessie's hand as we looked each other in the eyes for mutual support.

"I do have one more question," I said softly.

Jessie continued to look at me.

"Why did you join the Marines, anyway?"

Her eyes saddened a little but she maintained eye contact.

"It's a long story," Jessie said. "And one that I'm just not ready to tell right just yet."

I nodded silently.

Jessie leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek. She leaned back and looked me in the eyes once more.

"What scares you the most, if I may ask?" she asked.

"Melissa told me the other night that everyone has secrets and that some are just worth killing for," I answered. "What scares me the most… is making sure that the ones that are worth killing for are worth it."

Jessie leaned over and nuzzled her head under my chin.

"No matter what happens," she whispered. "I still love you, Jonny, and I always will."

I kissed her forehead.

I whispered back, "I wish I loved me, too…"


	72. Seventy

I could hear Jessie's voice tear through my subconscious.

I grumbled, "Just a few more minutes…"

"I wish I could let you have that, sweetie," she said as she gently massaged my chest. "Come on, wake up."

I slowly opened my eyes to the roof of the helicopter cabin.

"We'll be landing in just a minute," one of the pilots said. "Strap yourselves in until we're grounded."

Jessie pulled me up and into one of the seats I had sat in earlier before taking a nap on the stretcher. I had been so exhausted from the day that I needed to get some rest while I could. While I slept, Jessie had changed into her new clothes: a light peach-colored golf shirt, tight blue jeans, and a pair of white and pink Puma sneakers.

"Nice outfit," I commented.

"I think it's cute," she said defiantly. "It sure as hell beats wearing fatigues all the time."

We fastened our seatbelts as the helicopter maneuvered over the landing pad. Once we touched down, we stuffed our uniforms and gear into the Adidas bag. I thanked the pilots. They told me to be careful and that hopefully we could have a beer once everything was settled. I appreciated their optimism. We left the chopper and started walking towards the emergency room entrance. A female physician of Jessie's height with shoulder-length light brown hair emerged from the building and met us halfway carrying two white doctor's smocks. She looked about a decade older than me but was still rather attractive.

In her native tongue, she asked, " _Do any of you speak French?_ "

" _I do,_ " I said. " _I take it you expecting us?_ "

" _Yes. You need to put these on and follow me._ "

Jessie and I put on the coats as instructed. I looked down at the identification badge clipped onto the breast pocket. My picture was on it with the name Arthur Durand and the position of urologist. Jessie's badge displayed the name Temperance Cordier and the position of gynecologist and obstetrician.

" _Who are you?_ " I asked our hostess as we walked into the hospital.

" _You can call me Christine,_ " she replied. " _Stay with me at all times. Your disguise will only manage to fool so many._ "

We approached an elevator. Two visitors were waiting on the car to arrive; we stood by out of the way.

" _I have heard about your situation, Mr. Quest_ ," Christine said sympathetically. " _I want you to know that I am sorry for your predicament._ "

I gave a small nod and replied, " _Thank you, doctor. I imagine there's nothing you can tell me that would help in my journey?_ "

" _Actually…_ "

The elevator doors opened. We entered the car along with the hospital visitors. Christine pressed lobby floor button and turned back to me.

" _You're working with one named Reno, yes?_ " she asked.

I nodded.

Christine turned back to face the elevator doors.

" _He is a patient of mine,_ " she continued. " _I am surprised he has lived this long._ "

" _I'm surprised he manages to live at all._ "

" _Your father was a member of the team that constructed the apparatus that keeps him alive physically._ "

Jessie must've picked up on it.

"What did she say?" she asked.

"She just said that Dad was a member of the group that rebuilt Reno's body," I explained. " _Christine, how long ago was this? What happened to Reno?_ "

Christine shook her head and faced me once more, her amber eyes full of sorrow.

" _I can't tell you how long ago it was because I honestly don't remember. What I can tell you, at least, what I know, is that someone detonated a white phosphorus explosive very close to him. He has no lower jaw, has extensive damage to his sinuses, is unable to digest food properly, and uses a colostomy bag. In order to keep his oxygen level in check, he has two supply cans strapped onto his person at all times, otherwise he risks suffocating."_

"Jesus Christ…"

Christine nodded sadly.

" _The team that managed to save his life was codenamed 'Eden'. There was a rumor that to ensure that the project was never imitated, all documents, schematics, and even facilities were burned to the ground, reduced to nothing but mere ashes. The only thing that remains is Reno. Prior to that, I believe he was referred to as a 'Cleaner' which I am sure you can imagine what their duty entails in the grand scheme of things. Now, he is nothing more than a shadow of his former self._ "

" _Is Reno his real name?_ " I asked.

" _I don't think so. Whenever he is treated here it's always by a unique identification number that is assigned by the powers that be._ "

The elevator came to a stop. With a bright chime, the doors slid open to the hospital lobby. We exited the elevator and approached the front automatic doors past the reception desk.

" _Hang onto your lab coats_ ," Christine said. " _You never know when you may need to fake being a doctor._ "

I smiled: " _Thanks, Christine_."

She looked at Jessie before looking back at me again.

" _Is this your wife?_ " she asked.

I blushed and shook my head.

" _No, mine… mine is currently held captive._ "

Christine put her hand on my cheek. She looked at Jessie once more and said, "He needs all the support you can give."

Jessie looked at me as I slowly lowered my gaze to the floor.

"Please be careful," Christine continued. "I see so many fine young men end up in the morgue as it is. It would be a shame to lose a gift such as yourself."

I could see a single tear roll out of the corner of Jessie's right eye.

"Indeed it would be," she whispered.


	73. Seventy-One

We ate quietly at a small family-owned Italian restaurant in the neighboring city of Levis, directly east of Quebec City across the Saint Lawrence River. Sitting in a lonely booth in the corner, I could tell something was on Jessie's mind as she picked at her chicken marsala. Finally, she couldn't keep quiet any longer and looked up.

"Who arranged for the helicopter ride here?" she asked.

I stopped stuffing my face with baked ziti and wiped off my mouth with a cloth napkin.

"Billy told me that Justin could help," I explained. "Justin, in turned, had some help from Perry Bostic's wife, Aimee."

"You're shitting me?"

"Nope. She's supposed to be lying low in Florida. Justin gave me a number she could be reached at but we don't exactly have a phone."

"Yeah… I need to see how Mom and Dad are doing," Jessie said quietly.

I resumed eating and asked, "And Elena?"

Jessie sighed, "Yeah, I guess I should wonder her status, too… Reno said she was taken somewhere he considered safe. I wonder what he had in mind?"

"I wonder why she's being kept separate and not with Hadji and Dad."

"That is strange. Jonny, I don't want to imagine what it would be like if even _she_ was involved with this, but at the rate things are going, everybody and their goddamn brother has a role in this."

I shook my head, saying, "I don't know, Jess; I would like to look further into her background. For the time being, however, we need to get to Montreal. I want to use my credit cards as little as possible."

"You're not thinking of dining and dashing, are you?" Jessie asked with raised eyebrows. Before I could respond she gently nudged me in the shin.

We continued eating with soft conversation. The waitress came over with refills.

" _I'm sorry to bother you, sir,_ " she said, her blue eyes showing signs of worry. " _But you have a telephone call_."

Jessie and I exchanged suspicious glances.

" _They requested me, specifically?_ " I asked.

" _Yes, sir; they described you accurately. You can use the phone at the maître d's stand."_

"Be right back," I told Jessie as I scooted out of the booth.

I followed the waitress to the front. The hostess was standing by with the receiver to the corded phone which sat on the podium.

" _Thank you_ ," I said as I took the phone. "Hello?"

A woman's voice spoke: "They're currently watching the restaurant out front. When you finish and pay, exit through the back. I'll be waiting."

That voice sounded awfully familiar…

"Yes, yes, I understand," I replied nonchalantly, giving the surrounding people the impression that this was a normal business call. "What do I need to look for?"

"2007 blue Saab 9-5. Ontario plates front and back. Last four digits three, three, two, seven."

She hung up immediately after that. I put the receiver back on its cradle and thanked the waitress and hostess.

" _I lost my phone this afternoon,_ " I explained. " _My brother wanted me to grab some personal effects of his. Thank you for letting me take this._ "

They both smiled and assured me it was no problem. I returned to the booth. Jessie's plate was now barren.

"Hungry much?" I asked as I sat back down.

Jessie smirked and replied, "It sure beats Olive Garden. Who was on the phone?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it was Jade Kenyon."

"Get out."

"I know," I said as I finished my plate. "Apparently, we have some visitors out front. I was told once we're done to scoot out the back. Where's the bag?"

Jessie reached down and pulled the duffel bag containing our weapons and outfits into the seat next to her.

"Grab a gun. I'm going to give this mystery caller the benefit of the doubt. For all we know it could just be diving headfirst into something bad but… fuck it…"

I was handed a gun underneath the table. I slipped it into my waistband behind my back. The waitress returned a short time later with the check. I slipped my credit card into the tray and said, " _I'm sorry to ask, but I need a favor._ "

" _Certainly, sir, what do you need?_ " she asked.

I motioned towards Jessie, saying in a low voice, " _When I was up front I managed to get a peek out the front door and saw her stalker out front. He seems to think that restraining orders are glorified pieces of toilet paper. As I'm sure you don't have any Mounties hiding in your supply closet, I need to ask if we can exit through your back door?_ "

I almost felt bad for having to lie to the young girl given how gullible she appeared to be. She gasped and reassured me that the owner would have no qualms with us making a sneaky escape. After leaving a generous tip, we were ushered through the kitchen and out the backdoor with the waitress leading the way. I thanked our server and manager for their cooperation before crossing the threshold into the warm summer evening.

Sure enough, a Saab was parked nearby with the license plate in question. Jessie and I quickly walked over to the car, scanning the back parking lot to ensure there were no other surprises waiting to happen. I took out my gun and got in the front passenger seat while Jessie got in the back behind the driver.

The second my eyes met theirs, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"I never thought I'd say this," I huffed. "But I could fucking kiss you right now."


	74. Seventy-Two

With her sly, dark steely eyes softening at the sight of Jessie and me, Jezebel Jade Kenyon started the car. She brushed back some of her smooth black hair behind her shoulders before shifting into gear driving out of the alley.

"So," I said in a nonchalant manner. "I imagine that nobody is watching us?"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Jonny," Jade replied demurely. "You've got I-2's attention. They've got C-2 crawling all over your communications."

I motioned towards Jessie in the back seat, asking, "I'm going to ask you what I asked her father: what the fuck is C-2, other than a plastic explosive? And what's I-2? The second level of Intelligence One?"

"Central Intelligence Agency sub-department that supports things like the NSA. C-1 and I-1 comprise the publicly visible CIA; all the real magic happens on levels two and higher. The problem is, as with all agencies, bureaucracy and the aspect of not letting the left hand know what the right hand is doing."

"So what are they up to? Just shadowing me?"

"As far as I can tell, yes," she said. "Phil can probably tell you more."

"Phil… Corbin? I thought he was retired by now?" Jessie asked.

Jade nodded, saying, "Officially, yes. Unofficially, he's probably the best friend you've got right now."

I continued questioning, "You knew where to find us here in Canada, I imagine you knew about our travel arrangements?"

"He's the one that set them up."

"That must've been where Billy got that DVD…"

"DVD?" Jade asked.

"Apparently it was body cam footage of whoever shot up Patricia Mullinax and her family prior to my run-in with her," I replied as I started to gaze out the window. "Off the top of my head, I can't think of anyone other than a police officer who would be wearing body cameras. Problem is, the whole department seems to be swarming with these storm-troopers-on-demand, and the wearer never speaks, so I couldn't even begin to guess who it is…"

"Do you still have it?"

"No: Billy destroyed it before he blew his own brains out."

Jade was silent.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "Phil said Billy was a real close personal friend of yours and also a police officer."

"He was one of the best," I agreed. "Tell me, Jade, what's your role in all of this?"

"Phil called in a favor."

"That sounds half-right," Jessie ridiculed softly.

I nodded, "I agree. Come on Jade, don't bullshit me: you wouldn't do this without some sort of incentive. What is it?"

"It's personal," Jade said curtly. "I know just as much about this whole ordeal as you do, if that's what your insinuating."

"Okay, I'll buy that for now."

She glanced over at me, saying, "You don't have much of a choice. Where the hell am I taking you, anyway?"

"1201 René-Lévesque Boulevard West. Need a GPS?"

"No, I know where that is… that's the Sheraton."

"How the hell do you know that's a hotel?" I asked.

Jade gave me a disdained look as Jessie put two-and-two together and tried to communicate it to me. I apologized about Jade's extracurricular activities in bedroom gymnastics.

"Get comfy," she finally said. "It's going to be a little while before we get there."

Almost half-jokingly, I asked, "Got any music?"

"As a matter of fact…"

Jade pressed a button the stereo console and selected her iPhone. Soft rock from the 1980's began to play.

"You know, Jade," Jessie said as she tried to position herself into a more comfortable position. "I think you would've been a better stepmom than the one I have now."

I could see a soft smile form across Jade's lips.

I sighed and returned to gazing out the window. It was going to be one of those nights.


	75. Seventy-Three

Jade Kenyon was, for all intents and purposes, a very capable woman with a very diverse set of skills that went well above and beyond than that of turning more tricks than a magic show on the Las Vegas strip. Jade made her living through whatever low-key positions were needed from people who didn't ask too many questions, such as espionage, mercenary, thief, or, from what I had heard through the grapevine, murder.

Jade's life was a modern-day Rockford Files.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Jessie was sound asleep. I wasn't as drowsy because of the nap I had earlier. I decided to press Jade in hopes that she would be willing to open up more since our audience had shrunk.

"What are these 'personal reasons' that you have for helping?" I asked.

Jade glanced over at me.

"Exactly what they sound like: personal," she replied.

"I told you not to bullshit me, Jade, now come on: how much are you getting paid for this? Normally you wouldn't even bother with being a public transport unless it had some very steep financial motivation backing it up. How do I know you're even going to take us to the right address and not to some setup?"

Jade changed lanes, saying, "What gives you the impression where you're going now isn't already waiting for you?"

"I don't have much else to go on," I sighed. "But I would at least like to pretend I can take the source of my information at his word."

"And what makes you think you can't?"

"He tried to take me in at gunpoint and blow somebody's head off."

"Not everything is at is seems, Jonny."

"Now we're getting somewhere," I said. "What is it you're hiding Jade? I want to know. Now."

Jade made a nonverbal motion towards Jessie.

"It's about Melissa," she said while making a "J" gesture on the steering wheel.

I nodded cautiously while a knot formed in my stomach.

"How much do you know about her, Jonny?"

Everything: what her favorite color was, her fears, her desires, what she wanted for Christmas, her favorite restaurants, even her favorite 80's rock song which she often listened to whenever she needed to unwind.

"These Dreams by Heart," I murmured.

Jade looked over at me and asked, "What?"

"Nothing… I was just mumbling," I replied. "What about Melissa?"

"Have you ever met her parents?"

"Her parents are Anthony and Meredith Jenkins; they live in Sacramento."

"That's not what I asked."

I sighed, "No, but I have seen photos of them; we've even spoken over Skype."

"Seen any child photos?" Jade questioned.

"Yeah," I said. "Plenty. You're going to tell me that she's actually an operative working for this NEO organization?"

Jade twisted her mouth slightly.

She replied with, "Not quite…"

"Well, what is it?"

Jade was wearing a low-cut V-neck blue shirt. She reached into her bra pulled out a tri-folded green sheet of paper and handed it over. I took the document and unfolded it, using my cell phone as a makeshift flashlight.

"This is fake," I said flatly.

"No, it isn't, Jonny," Jade contended. "And you know it is. Seal and all."

I shook my head, "No… no…"

"Jonny, that's his…"

"Stop the car."

Jade looked at me as Jessie slowly came back to life.

I pulled my gun from its holster and pointed it at Jade and commanded, "I said stop the goddamn car, Jezebel!"

Jade nodded silently and pulled off the highway onto an exit before coasting into a gas station and parking underneath a street lamp.

I read the paper three more times.

Jessie was wide awake now.

"What is it, Jonny?" she asked.

I kept my gun pointed at Jade and said, "You're going to tell me about Jessie as well after you explain to me why this isn't bullshit and not some forgery."

"Goddammit, Jonathan Quest, will you tell me what's going on?!" Jessie shouted.

I shoved the paper at her with my cell phone and yelled back, "Read that!"

Jessie read it silently.

"No," she said in disbelief. "This… this can't be right?"

Without a hint of emotion, Jade spoke: "It is."

"Jonny… there's no way… she's… she can't be… that would mean you've had…"

"It's true, Jonathan," Jade said softly. "That's why Judith won't hurt her."

I could hear Jessie fall back in her seat and whisper, "She's your sister… you've fucked your sister…"


	76. Seventy-Four

I was sitting in my "man cave" on the second floor of my house. Melissa had moved in the week prior after a few months of nesting and slowly getting me to adapt my Neanderthal ways to that of a more "civilized" specimen, like hanging towels up neatly on the towel rack instead of dropping them in the floor next to the hamper. My room, however, was allowed to remain the last bastion of being an uncultured male. With dark blue walls accented by the soft glow of glowing neon signs displaying my favorite beer brands, three bookshelves filled with my favorite literary titles and movies, and a hobby desk where I would often write in my private journal, I was no longer burdened with the aspect of Iris to escape from the torments of reality.

I shifted in my leather recliner, clumsily plucking at my guitar. I had always wanted to learn how to play a musical instrument; Jessie had tried to teach me how to play piano years prior but I was too musically inept to catch on.

It looked like some things never changed.

Frustrated, I set the instrument upright on its stand.

A voice from above me said, "You give up too easily."

Slender fingers wrapped themselves around my shoulders and began to work out the stress. I loved it when she did that.

"Wade says the same thing," I said as I carelessly let my head fall backwards. "He says you probably handle all the jar opening duties around here."

Melissa reached down and kissed me.

"Well, he's halfway right," she whispered as she slipped into my lap. She nestled her head under my chin while letting her legs hang lazily over the arm of the chair. I began to rock slowly.

Melissa asked, "How was work? You usually hide away up here when something's on your mind…"

"Long, arduous," I said. "Nikki is still out because of the accident last week caused by that fucking meth-head, so I had to cover two beats today. Wade's covering the north side of town, Pete's covering the south, and I'm covering everything in between with Coleman."

"I'm sorry, honey," Melissa said sweetly. "However, I like it when you wear your uniform."

She slowly traced the outline of my star pinned to my chest.

"I'll bet you were tired, also: you were having those nightmares again last night."

I sighed and nodded.

"What are they about? You've never really talked about them."

I looked down at her and asked, "You sure you're ready to hear about that?"

Melissa pulled herself up and looked at me, her passionate cerulean eyes full of endearment and angst.

"Jonny, I want to know," she pleaded. "You can tell me anything… you know that, right?"

"I know, I just…"

"What?"

I wiped my eyes and said, "I just don't want you to think any different of me for what's happened… on the job. What happened was something I had never done before, something I never experienced; nothing in all of my lifelong adventures and times my life was threatened couldn't hold a candle to this."

Melissa held my face still and gently kissed me.

"Nothing you say or do is going to change how I feel about you, Jonny," she whispered.

"Okay," I whispered back. "It was late one night, sometime in May, about four years ago. I had only been with Rockport for about a year; I transferred from the university's police department after graduating. I stopped this green Oldsmobile over there on Upper Mechanic and Melvin Heights. Lady gets out… just starts shooting. Whole car reeked of gas. I had…"

I swallowed hard.

"I shot back," I continued. "All I could smell was gas and gun powder. She had this, this… grill lighter, set herself on fire. The car went up with it. I get up to it, there's a kid with a bullet hole in her head slumped over in the front seat. In the backseat was her sister. Had to… had to cut her out. That whole goddamn car was just soaked with gasoline, like someone wanted to make a rolling oven with it. I got the girl out and ran back to my car. The burning one blew the fuck up; came to find out later the whole trunk was stuffed with bottles of liquid propane. I… I don't know what that woman was doing. I just don't understand."

Melissa wiped the tears from my eyes.

"After that, I had a lot of trouble with domestic calls. Out here in the county it's a bigger problem than it is in town."

"What made you keep going?" Melissa asked. "You know, being a police officer?"

I laughed softly and said, "I don't know, really. I spent all of my childhood carting all over the globe, I guess it made me miss home. Sure, there's still plenty that I haven't seen because most of the time we were there on official business, but I get tired of catching the ire of international criminal masterminds. I would much rather deal with Drunky McDrunkface who pisses himself after puking all over the sidewalk, especially when I can put him in the back of Wade's squad car and not mine."

Melissa smiled warmly and giggled a little.

"I'm glad that you decided to come back to your roots," she said. "Otherwise, you would've never had the opportunity to ask me out."

"True," I responded. "What did you think of having the famous son of Benton Quest ask you out on a timid date?"

"Out of all the girls that practically throw themselves at you, you picked me. I don't think I can wrap my head around that."

"To be fair, the women that throw themselves at me are usually trying to escape a citation or are with Drunky McDrunkface and have more alcohol in their bloodstream than red blood cells."

Melissa's smile widened as she slipped her hand underneath my uniform's collar.

"You're not wearing an undershirt today?" she asked with a hint of surprise.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Too hot."

"I see…"

Melissa slowly started unbuttoning my uniform.

"Well, in that case," she whispered seductively. "I guess it's okay that I'm not wearing a bra."

"Too hot?" I asked playfully.

"You could say that," she said before leaning in. "I love you."

I leaned forward into her kiss: "I love you too."

This was getting too much.

Was this real?

Was this a ruse to try and trip me up?

I blinked and found myself staring at the asphalt of the gas station that Jade had pulled into. Jessie was kneeling in front of me.

I looked up at her and said, "Let's go. I want to get to the bottom of this shit once and for all."

We were back on the road in no time.

I resumed thinking of Melissa.

"I'm coming for you," I whispered into my reflection in the passenger side window. "It's my fault you're in this… I'll get you out of it…"

I hoped.


	77. Seventy-Five

"Where did you get this from, anyway?" I asked Jade as we pulled into the parking garage.

She pulled into a parking space and said, "Phil. Speaking of which…"

I looked over and noticed a gray-haired man in a dark suit exiting a Mercedes sedan from further down the aisle. I immediately recognized who he was and opened the door.

"Jonny?" Jessie asked as I exited the car. I ignored her as I made a beeline for Phil Corbin, Race's old boss.

Phil looked up at me with a wary gaze as my hands clenched into fists.

"Hi, Jonny," he managed to say.

Through clenched teeth, I snarled, "What the fuck are you trying to do to me, claiming that Melissa is my sister so that Judith won't hurt her?"

"Can we go upstairs and rest first? You're in no condition to be processing everything that's going on."

I raised my voice to near-shouting, echoing throughout the garage, questioning his nerve to put me off like I was some distraught mother being denied her Social Security Disability benefits. I could feel Jessie and Jade's hands gently take each arm and pull me back slowly. Phil sighed, his weathered face reflecting years of stress and constant worry. He adjusted his crimson tie and retrieved a suitcase from the trunk of his car.

"Come on, Jonny," Jessie said in a consoling tone. "Let's just go upstairs and unwind for a moment. It's not very often since this started that we get to breathe."

I gave her a short glance and gave a single nod. I retrieved our bag from Jade's car and entered the hotel behind the others. This was a high-end hotel with polished marble floors, decadent chandeliers and authentic oak and maple podiums. Comfortable alcoves filled with expensive furniture provided quiet places for people to gather and work while waiting on their respective parties. The enormous bar dedicated an entire wall to rectangular windows overlooking the city, littered with LCD televisions above the drink stations, while a mezzanine allowed those who wanted to drink privately to enjoy the scenery without much disturbance. On the other side of the hotel was a bistro, complete with plush red leather booths and chairs, black-and-white décor, and the air of upscale dining that went with it.

Phil ordered the women to wait at the elevators. He then took me with him to the front desk.

"You'll have to do the talking," he explained. "French was never one of my strong points."

"What do I ask for?" I asked.

"Ask for a parcel waiting for Paul Annendale."

As we approached the front desk, Phil cursed under his breath. I noticed that there were two employees—both men around my age dressed in black suits with gold name tags—manning the counter which was rather strange for this early in the morning.

"We're going to have to isolate one of them," Phil whispered to me. "Tell one of them there is someone trying to break into the terminal at the bar."

I decided to approach the blonde-headed one closest to the edge.

" _Excuse me, sir_ ," I said semi-frantically, almost tumbling over my English-to-French translation in my mind. " _Someone is trying to rob the till at the bar._ "

He quickly said to his coworker " _I'll take a look_ " before exiting from behind the marble counter and bolting down the lobby. I looked over at Phil who gave an approving nod. I approached the remaining employee, a brown-haired, bearded man.

He looked at me in the eye and asked, " _What can I do for you, sir?_ "

" _I believe you have a parcel waiting for Paul Annendale?_ "

Immediately, a blank stare washed over his rounded face.

" _I'm listening_ ," he said with an empty tone.

Oh, no…

"Ask him for sanctuary," Phil said calmly. "He'll know what that means."

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I was not in the least bit comfortable doing this.

" _I need sanctuary_ ," I explained.

Without blinking, the clerk reached below his desk and retrieved two hotel key cards and handed them to me.

" _Don't these need to be programmed_?" I asked.

The employee simply responded with, " _No_."

"Come on, Jonny," Phil said. "The other guy's coming back."

Recalling how Laura was released, I ended our conversation, " _End._ "

The blank stare went away. The employee gave me a smile and a nod. Phil and I turned and walked towards the elevators where Jessie and Jade were still waiting. Phil motioned for someone to press the call button on one of the elevators.

"What was that all about?" Jessie asked as she pressed the button.

"Hard to get in a room without keys," Phil explained. "Especially the room we're going to."

A small chime alerted us to the elevator car's arrival. We proceeded inside; Phil pressed the button to close the doors. The elevator car was lined with more expensive maple and marble floor that matched the lobby.

Phil pointed, saying, "The document holder there where the safety inspection form is: that's actually a door. Open it up and insert these keys."

The safety inspection placard was located above the floor buttons. As anticipated, there were two card readers behind it once it was swung outward. I inserted the card keys given to me by the front desk clerk. Once the cards were inserted, Phil began punching random floor buttons like he was entering some sort of access code. The car started moving.

"You can take the cards out now, Jonny," he said. "The elevator only goes to the thirty-eighth floor, but there's one more reserved for dignitaries and their staff as well as other… VIPs."

I turned to the man, refocused on my original question: "Okay, Phil, I've waited as long as I could. What the fuck is this about Melissa being my sister and where the hell did you get this document?"

"That document was overnighted to me by FedEx by a lady you know as Aimee Bostic," Phil said solemnly. "She went straight to Florida per your request and perused some documents down there deep in the Quest Enterprises archives as well as the vital records batch stored in the state's archives."

"What do you mean by 'know as'; does she go by a different name?" Jessie asked.

"She has many aliases. One of which is Aimee Perry. I think her and her cohort agreed that Perry would become his first name and they decided to choose a town where Aimee has roots for their last name. From what I've heard, you found out that your father's organization was shuffling around supplements."

"More than shuffling," I argued. "She also implicated Earley at the house. Was he there with Wade? What was he trying to do?"

"Wade did the killings without any suggestions from Earley, if that's what you're wondering. Dr. Earley has been weaving himself in and out of Quest Enterprises for a long time now and has been shielded by Benton. Unfortunately, it looks like the chickens are coming home to roost."

"That didn't answer my question."

Phil shook his head, saying, "I don't know, Jonny. Someone got to Perry and you know how that turned out. I don't know what Earley was doing there at Garry's house nor do I know why Wade felt it necessary to gun them down unless he had good reason to. Our only hope is what's on that hard drive you've got."

"And Aimee?" I asked. "What about her? How do I know all of this is real; that you're telling the truth and that Melissa really is my sister? From the way I've seen things, I'm pretty hard pressed to believe my own fucking eyes right now."

"I pressed Benton about it because I didn't even believe it."

"I doubt I will believe him, too," I muttered.

"You should," Phil contested.

"Why?"

He looked away.

With a heavy sigh, he said flatly, "Because he's the one that fucked Judith to begin with and started this whole goddamn mess."


	78. Seventy-Six

"Jonny, put your gun away, the door isn't going to open with you shooting it," Phil said as he grabbed my wrist. "It's bulletproof!"

"The hell it is!" I shouted. "Get off of me!"

Jessie joined in the chorus and managed to wrestle my gun away from me. I resigned myself to being pulled away from the hotel door. The hallway was even more luxurious than the lobby with Persian runners on top of a commercial carpet, antique hallway tables with fancy gold mirrors, and soft recessed lighting. The door in front of us seemed like a typical white hotel room door with a keycard reader above the handle.

Phil put his hands on my shoulders and said, "Jonny, for God's sake, calm down… I know this shit show just keeps getting better and better, but you were going to find out sooner or later. I need you to focus so we can get through it alive. You're so close to blowing everything open; don't you want to know what's going on?"

"Goddammit, I do, you fucker!" I scorned. "Quit treating me like I'm some dickhead idiot."

Phil swallowed and turned to the door. After inserting a keycard and quickly removing it, I could hear a series of bolts unlatch. He pushed down on the handle and opened the door into a foyer where another keycard door awaited. Jade took the second card and repeated the process that Phil did. I followed behind into the penthouse suite and was blown away. This wasn't just some fancy hotel room: this was a fucking townhouse. The walls were adorned with a deep red velvet wallpaper while the feather-soft carpet was a pale pearl color. Various amenities ranging from a private bar, flat-screen television, entire wall consisting of windows overlooking the city, and a private dining room ensured that whoever stayed here would be truly "home away from home."

"Anyone home?" Phil called out while reaching into his jacket.

Jessie dropped the bag and opened it, pulling back out the gun she had obtained when she was "deputized." Jade reached down and removed her own firearm—what looked like a .38 special—from an ankle holster hidden beneath her khakis.

"Jade, you and Jessie cover the door," Phil ordered. "Jonny, sweep with me."

With the girls guarding the exit, Phil and I began our slow descent deeper into the penthouse. Immediately past the bar on the right was the bathroom; inside was a luxurious garden tub large enough to fit several people. The shower was empty but it displayed signs of recent use.

Someone was here.

I exited the bathroom and watched as Phil slowly put his hand on a doorknob leading to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. He looked back at me with a worrisome expression. I could only give an approving nod to get him to keep going. Slowly, he turned the knob and pushed it open, letting his firearm enter first.

"Oh, thank God," I heard him whisper.

I immediately ran up to Phil to see what he saw. Pushing the door open completely, I could see Estella wearing a loose football jersey, snuggled up under the black sheets and comforter of the king-sized bed. Her damp red hair had moistened the overstuffed pillows ever so slightly. On the LCD television across the room above the dresser, the movie _Ice Age_ played. Nearby, in a loveseat the matched the décor of the living room, Race had fallen asleep sitting up. Across his lap was a Sterling SMG C1, a small submachine gun with a perpendicular magazine.

Phil put his gun back in his holster.

"I don't seen Reno," he whispered. "Do you?"

"No," I whispered back.

"Let's let 'em sleep; probably one of the few times they're going to get to."

Phil turned and walked back towards the living room. I holstered my gun and entered the room. I turned off the television and retrieved an extra blanket and pillow from one of the dresser drawers. I walked over to Race and gave him a gentle tap.

"Hey, Race," I said softly.

Race gave a muffled grunt.

I set the pillow on one arm and pulled his legs up onto the loveseat. Race's body reacted naturally and curled itself into a fetal position. I put the blanket over my old mentor and turned my attention to Estella. I walked over to the side she was facing and sat down. Estella slowly opened her eyes and blinked a few times.

"Am I dreaming?" she whispered. "You're alive?"

I smiled a little.

Gently so as not to wake Race, I said, "Afraid so."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"I don't know, but you should go back to sleep. I'm here with Phil, Jessie, and Jade. I don't know where Reno is."

"He said he'd be arriving later," Estella said as she tried to fight to stay awake. "Said… he had to pick something up."

I nodded.

"I'm not going anywhere," I reassured her. "I'll keep you all safe."

"Jonny…"

I leaned down and gently kissed Estella on the cheek. She slowly put her hand behind my head and held me in place long enough for her to return the favor on me.

"I'm so sorry for all of this," she said, tears starting to run down her face. "I'll tell you what I know."

"No, no," I said as I wiped away her guilt. "Not now. You need to rest, Estella."

Estella slowly closed her eyes. In Spanish, she said, " _I love you so much, Jonny, we all do_."

In French, I replied, " _I believe half of your statement_ … I know at least you do. Get some sleep; I'll check in on you later."

"Take care of yourself," she said as she drifted back off to sleep. "Please… don't die…"

I tucked her in and gave her one last kiss on the cheek. I got up and walked to the door.

"I'm trying not to," I said before leaving to rejoin the others.

But it was oh so tempting.


	79. Seventy-Seven

Jessie had gone to sleep alongside her parents. Jade, Phil, and I remained in the living room, drinking alcohol retrieved from the bar. Not wanting to waste time, I decided to cut to the chase: "Who's Aimee and what the fuck was she up to?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Phil asked, pulling out his phone. He dialed a number, turned on the speakerphone, and then placed the device on the ottoman in front of him.

Aimee answered on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Aimee," I said flatly.

A brief pause came from her end before she replied, "Hi, Jonny…"

"Mind telling me who you really are and why you wanted my autograph and picture?"

"I'm here, too, Aimee," Phil interjected. "Go ahead and tell Jonny what's happening."

Aimee sighed.

"Thank God. Jonny, there just wasn't enough time to explain. Judith is after you…"

"No shit," I barked. "Got any other insightful observations?"

"…which is why we've deployed some decoys."

Decoys?

I leaned forward and pressed, "What the fuck do you mean?"

"We have individuals who specialize in absolute perfect signature forgery. With special effects makeup and training, we managed to dispatch a few members across the nation to throw her off. Jonny, you don't understand that it's not just Judith that's after you: you have select members of the United States, Canadian, and Mexican governments currently searching for you, some of them with orders to bring back a corpse. Judith is a member of a select department that has laid into motion events that are going to tear the world apart and possibly trigger a third world war within the next six years."

"Funny: I thought Obama was doing a bang-up job all by himself…"

"Jonny, be serious," Aimee protested. "This is bigger than Obama, bigger than people like George Soros, the Chase family, the Koch brothers… combined."

"I'm not the world's savior, Aimee, that's what Jesus Christ was sent to do, not me."

"Judith and friends don't want a savior, Jonny," Phil cautioned. "They want you to be the head of this operation."

I sat back in my chair and gasped, "Say, what?"

Aimee chimed in, "It's true, Jonny. Judith believes in her heart that you belong at the top like some global monarchy. Just as the Saudi Kingdom, North Korea, and other totalitarian regimes ruled, so will you, only on a planetary scale."

"That's… that's insane and fucking impossible… isn't it?"

"Think about it, Jonny," Phil said. "What is the motivation for much of Earth's population: self-serving with the least amount of effort put forth. That's what makes socialism and communism so great on paper: a classless society with a centralized position of power placed into a trusted committee, the government. Do you think that it's any coincidence that these ideals have permeated throughout university lecture halls for the past century? The United Nations was the first step. The problem is that not everyone up top is on board and wants to maintain their level of autonomy over their respective domains."

"What's keeping them from killing each other, then?" I asked.

"You don't destroy a bridge that you're standing on, lest you want to fall into the ravine with it. I'm sure you've heard of Dr. Earley's attempted takeover of one of the departments?"

I nodded.

"NEO is much more than just a centralized power delegating to underlings. Instead, it is an organic, structurally dynamic hierarchy of resource management, backroom deals, and favors. Mankind is treated as literal human capital, much like inventory in a warehouse. Regional governors are akin to that of department managers—your father being one of them—while higher up on the totem pole, world leaders must answer to. At the center of this is an elected council akin to a board of directors. Your mother's family has had such an impact over the past two-hundred years that they have earned themselves a semi-permanent seat on that council. What Thomas tried to do was ballsy, if not insanely stupid, in that he tried to hold you hostage to gain leverage over Judith. Unfortunately, Judith became aware of his Deep Recognizance and turned most of his own people against him. His program ran far, Jonny, as I'm sure you've experienced, even with Jeremiah Surd."

"I have to go," Aimee said hurriedly. "Someone's coming…"

I tried to get in one last question: "Wait, Aimee, I…?"

She had already disconnected. I rubbed my face and finished my drink.

I looked up at Jade next, asking, "And what's your 'personal' bullshit that got you involved in this?"

"Jonny," Phil said sternly.

"No, Phil, it's okay," Jade reassured him. "I guess it's going to come up sooner or later… I'm looking for my daughter."

"I need another drink," I said as I got up and went to the bar. "Keep talking."

"About eighteen years ago I was impregnated by a fling I had. The organization took my daughter from me the day she was born and shoved me out the door. They would never let me see her in person; however, I managed to make one friend on the inside who would send me pictures. They wanted her to be a 'janitor' like Reno is."

"What does she look like?" I asked as I leaned against the bar.

Jade turned and looked at me, saying, "You've met her: she's blonde, young… her name is Nikki."

Jesus Christ.

"Oh, God, Jade, I'm…"

"No, no," Jade said calmly. "You did what you had to do; broken bones and bruises will heal."

"How did you find out?"

"I've been tracking her for a long time. When you first met her, that's when I managed to pick up her trail again. Dr. Corbin was nice enough to call and let me know that she had made it out."

I looked over at Phil, saying, "I imagine you two are related?"

"My brother's kid," Phil replied. "And, like you, involved in the project."

I turned my attention back to Jade.

"I'm sorry, Jade," I said. "I wish I had known so I could've brought her with me."

"She's okay, Jonny," Jade smiled. "She did what you said… she went straight to Benton."

Suddenly, the bolt on the door released. With a turn of the knob, the door opened. Reno was walking backwards into the room, dragging somebody by their arms.

"Oh my God," Jade gasped.

I dropped my glass and whispered, "Steve…"


	80. Seventy-Eight

Steve Rude was sprawled out on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms of the suite that was decorated in the same fashion as the one Jessie and her parents were currently occupying. Jade removed his shirt and pants per Reno's instruction. The man's body showed impact bruises that were dark enough to make his blood look like grape juice. Reno explained that he had been wearing riot armor, thereby increasing his chances of living. He instructed Phil to go start making plastic bags of ice to help control the swelling; Jade began bandaging lacerations and other visibly bleeding injuries. Miraculously, Steve was somewhat conscious. He slowly rolled his head to face me, his brown eyes bloodshot and weak.

"Thank… God…" he whispered.

"What happened?" I said, pulling up a chair next to him.

"I… I had to get it to Billy… they took…"

Steve winced. Jade gently cautioned him not to try to exert any more effort than he had to. He nodded.

"Gwen, Julia… they took me to a compound… black site… Chicago…"

"What are they going to do with Gwen and Julia? Do you know?"

Steve swallowed and said, "Something about… reunion… don't know what she wants with Julia…"

Perplexed, I asked, "Reunion? What kind of reunion?"

He shook his head. I believed him.

Reno put his hand on my shoulder and motioned for me to follow him to the next room to let Steve recuperate. I silently followed him back to the living area, passing Phil as he returned to the bedroom. I took a seat on the couch as Reno walked over to the window overlooking the city.

"How did you get in without people noticing you?" I asked. "It's not often they see a scarecrow walking around dragging a bald guy."

Reno took off his trench coat and tossed it onto a nearby chair; he was wearing white dress shirt and black trousers underneath. Strapped to his waist below his back was a portable oxygen carrier carrying two two-liter bottles of liquid oxygen. Reno undid the buttons on his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, revealing arms consisting of extensively grafted skin. He unhooked his oxygen hoses and slowly removed his mask.

"I try to only go out at night," Reno said, holding his mask in his hands. His head was completely hairless and consisted of more splotches of relocated skin. He turned around and looked at me, almost startling me.

The man that stood before me had no lower jaw. Instead of a graceful curvature of one's face, Reno's face was that of a sudden ninety-degree turn inward; he could rest his head on the edge of a table perfectly. The electronic voice box placed in his trachea protruded from its place where his larynx would be. Two oxygen hoses dangled from his nostrils, temporarily disconnected so he could remove his mask.

Reno looked more of a war victim than a ruthless killer.

He must've noticed my awkward gaze as he said, "It's okay, Jonny; I'm used to it."

"If you don't mind me asking… why exactly are you still alive?" I asked.

Reno did the best he could to smile. He reconnected his oxygen tank and sat down in the chair across from me.

"My job on this planet isn't done yet, son."

"You were serious, also, about smothering babies in their cribs?"

A wave of sadness washed over Reno's face. He nodded solemnly.

"But… why? I mean," I paused to rub some weariness from my eyes. "What drives you to do these things? How did you become…"

He finished my question for me: "…so evil?"

Reno stood and walked back over to the window, pressing his hands against the cold glass.

"I hate this world," he said. "Rather, I hate its inhabitants. I hate their joy, I hate their pain, I hate it all… ever since I was a boy, I just couldn't fathom why anybody would want to exist on this God-forsaken planet. Everybody is out to get everybody else. We're constantly being held to standards that not even the ones purporting it can achieve themselves. Humans are inherently stupid: they believe that they can do good by putting their faith into others. They also believe that everybody gets what's coming to them. If that was the case, I'd be dead."

I looked over at him and asked, "I don't understand?"

"The project that Thomas Earley was working on, the DR project, is divided into separate groups. Prior to the numerical stage, there was a stage that consisted of Greek lettering: alpha, beta, gamma, and so on. I'm DR-Kappa, born on the eleventh of November, 1947. I was a member of the Marine Corps Force Reconnaissance Company in Vietnam when I was inducted into the program. Unfortunately, it took being blasted halfway to hell from a phosphorus grenade to get me in, not that I had much say-so in the matter, mind you."

"That would explain your scars and breathing assistance. What about the mask? Is that your idea?"

"Surprisingly, no," Reno said as he let his hands fall to his sides. "That was Benton's idea."

Before I could interject, Jade appeared at the bedroom door where Steve was recovering.

"Jonny, you better come here, quick," she said hurriedly.

I immediately lifted myself off the couch and reentered the bedroom. Steve now had bags of ice being applied to the various areas of swelling. Phil was on the balcony speaking to someone over the phone. Steve opened his eyes slowly and reached out for me.

I leaned down to him and asked softly, "Steve, what is it?"

"Benton," he whispered. "Goddamn… he… keep Hadji safe… surrendered to the cleaning crew…"

My eyes widened.

"She's taking… taking him to Julia… I tried to stop it… couldn't…"

"That's when they took you to the black site?" Julia asked.

Steve gave a single nod to her before turning to me and whispering, "Yeah… I'm sorry, kid…"

Jessie's voice stopped everyone in the room: "You…?"

Jade and I turned to look at Jessie. Tears began to stream down her face as she backed up slowly.

"No… I thought it was… but I can't be…"

"Hi, Ponchita," Steve said weakly. "I guess… no use trying… to hide anymore…"

Jade stepped away from the bed and allowed Jessie to get closer. She got down on her knees next to the bed and gently took Steve's hand, weeping silently.

She whispered, "They told me you were killed in Kuwait… but I knew it was you, in Jerusalem…"

Steve smiled the best he could and gave her a small squeeze in return.

"Your father… knows… only he does… kept you and Estella safe…"

Jessie looked up at me, her face flushed and stained from her crying.

"This is my uncle," she explained, her voice cracking. "Jonny, I want you to meet Feliks Asafo Velasquez."

I reached down and took Steve's other hand.

"Nice to meet you, finally," I said with a small smile.

"Likewise, Mr. Quest," he replied before closing his eyes. "Likewise."


	81. Seventy-Nine

Reno motioned for me to sit across from him once more in the living area. I was becoming more acclimated to his physical deformities; for a moment, I even started to feel bad for him. He obviously wanted to die but something other than his cryptic remark about unfinished business bothered me.

I took a seat and decided to be upfront: "I want to ask you something: are you allowed to commit suicide?"

He lowered his gaze and shook his head, "No. Our programming, as I'm sure you may have experienced, has a strict self-preservation policy. The innate drive to stay alive is much like breathing: we have no choice but to cling to life no matter the costs, regardless of how we feel. I can't even ask someone to kill me as I would instinctively defend myself."

"Bummer…"

Reno gave me a humorous glance; the only way he knew how to laugh, I imagined.

"I want to talk to you about Billy before we address the matter at hand of your father—I overheard Steve tell you—and Thomas."

"Okay, what is it?"

"I'm afraid you were caught in more than one crosshair at one time," he said. "And for that, I am truly sorry. Billy was against using non-military candidates for our operations and for good reason. The ability to take orders without question, to kill indiscriminately… these are not things I would want any average civilian to undertake without extensive duty tours, psychological training, and performance gauging. Thomas was, for all intents and purposes, a piece of shit: the man would sell out his own mother if it meant he could climb a little higher on the corporate hierarchy. Zin was no different."

"You knew Dr. Zin personally?" I asked.

Reno inhaled and said, "Sadly. The real reason he harbored such animosity for your father was, incidentally, me."

I intensified by gaze at the man.

He continued, "Zin's real name is Arslan Kitbuqa. The son of Mongolian horse breeders, he traveled to Russia in his teens to study as there were no suitable universities elsewhere in the USSR. He adopted the moniker 'Zin' because of its easy pronunciation and to abandon his rural heritage. His wife was a Chinese journalist named Sun Xiao-Xing. Together, they defected to the United States through a personal contact, a Communist sympathizer named Thomas Earley."

I lowered my head into my hands.

"Zin was also placed on the team that was to keep me alive. They said he felt humiliated by Benton, which is probably true: your father was, at one time, quite arrogant and brash. This was compounded by the fact that Benton was significantly younger than Zin. In the end, the gook managed to engineer a somewhat rudimentary pulmonary apparatus that could assist in breathing until a more permanent solution could be developed. Your father fashioned the mask that I wear to protect my eyes at the time and to provide a secure way to keep the oxygen lines flowing. It's not really needed now, though…"

"Why do you wear it, then?" I asked.

"I'm a freak, Son; when I wear the mask, I'm reminded of what kind of monster I am."

"About Zin…"

He nodded, saying, "Xiao-Xing was murdered shortly after the twins were born. I'm sure you've met them, haven't you?"

"Afraid so," I replied.

"Zin believed in his heart that it was your father. That's why he tried to kill Rachel."

I went to the bar and poured a glass of vodka.

"So why did you kill her?" I asked as I made my way back to where I was sitting.

"You catch on fast," Reno said, as proud as his electronic larynx would allow him to be. "It was a conflict of interest: she was feeding information back to the group that oversaw the Asian countries. This would've created an unbalanced power shift if they caught on to what the North American and Western European teams were planning."

I sat back down and downed my drink in one gulp.

I pressed: "So what happened to Mom?"

Reno got up and walked to the window once more.

"I'm not sure," he said. "What I do know is that I have reason to believe she's alive. I get the feeling you think I know without a doubt she's alive."

"You catch on fast."

Reno let out a small scoff.

He looked back at me, saying, "I'm sorry, Jonny. I've seen all the evidence presented so far as well, even handwritten notes, but I just can't be certain. There are too many variables at play here. Judith, unfortunately, being one that is going to be the endgame for this. Billy was my trump card, which is what I wanted to inform you of, before he met his demise. He was the one that tipped me off to the start of this. Unfortunately, I was too late. I kept an eye on Steve but couldn't tell if he was playing both sides of the field or what. Which reminds me… you have a hard drive in your possession, yes?"

"Yeah," I answered. "Wade pulled it out of Barber's computer and left it for me. I have it in my bag."

"Get it out. I set up a computer in one of the bedrooms that we can use to explore it."

"What do you intend to find?"

"Where exactly we need to go," Reno said. "And, more importantly, what exactly is going to be in our way. Remember: there are an unknown number of combatants that don't even know they _are_ combatants. I'm sure you've encountered children and teenagers thus far that seemed quite adept with some military-grade weapons, right? I, personally, have no trouble with shooting anyone that gets in the way regardless of age. The rest of you, however, do not have the desensitization that I went through. We will need to plan our attack carefully and hope that whoever brought your father in isn't out there waiting for us."

It was then that Phil entered the room.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said.

Reno nodded, still facing the city skyline.

I asked, "What is it?"

"I've just received word that Sheriff Smoak's dead man's switch has been thrown. Aimee is en route to Maine now to verify."

"What was his dead man's switch?"

He sighed, saying solemnly, "A small passenger jet is going to slam into the department's patrol office. Upon impact, automatic charges planted within the walls of the interior will detonate. It's packed with enough dynamite to level the foundation underneath the Empire State Building. Key personnel will remain inside to be reduced to human remains."

"Mother of God…"

"Coleman left you a note; do you still have it?"

I nodded.

"Good," Phil said. "Save it. You're going to want to check on it when this is all over. Because everything in that office is going to be reduced to dust."

Reno turned and asked, "Does Benton have one?"

"I don't know."

"I don't want to be the one to find out," I whispered to myself.


	82. Eighty

"What's wrong?" Jessie asked.

I disengaged myself from her body and rolled over onto the cool grass underneath the clear night sky.

"Too much on my mind," I replied. "These… these dreams are weird…"

"Why?"

She rolled over, resting her head on my bare chest and draping her right arm across my abdomen.

"I don't understand why I've had them all these years," I said. "I still don't know what they mean."

Jessie looked up at me: "Do they have to mean anything?"

I gave a small shrug, answering, "I was always of the belief that they did. I mean, you _are_ just a figment of my imagination."

"I guess I am… but that would mean that you're arguing with yourself," she said with a soft smile.

"I do that a lot."

"I know."

We were clothed again almost instantaneously. Jessie was dressed in her favorite outfit from our early teen years: a teal t-shirt with a matching, though darker shade, pair of jeans. I looked down and saw I was wearing my favorite black cotton Hanes tee and rough denim jeans.

I asked aloud, "I wonder what this is about?"

Jessie gave me an uneasy smile and turned her gaze towards the Atlantic. Behind us was the lighthouse where many adventures were had in our youth.

"What is it you want the most, Jonny?" she questioned.

"What do you mean?"

"If there was one thing that you wish could've been, that could've happened to you, in your entire life up until this point, what would it be?"

Now I turned to face the ocean.

"Normalcy," I said flatly.

She glanced over at me and asked, "How so?"

"Come on, Jessica," I said, slightly irritated. "I just wanted to be a normal guy like everybody else. I wanted to be the kind of kid that came home to his parents every day, where an adventure would be something like taking a road trip or going to the beach. Where I didn't have to worry about these cartoonish supervillains that would make Batman shit a brick."

"They're not cartoonish supervillains, Jonny," Jessie objected. "They're _real_ people with a _real_ agenda."

"While that may be so, why the fuck does my family have to be the one to deal with them?"

"And mine doesn't?"

I hung my head slightly.

"…Sorry," I whispered.

Jessie stepped closer and put her hands on my arm.

"Jonny," she said. "We can't choose our destinies, our situations, our predispositions. Didn't Pastor Kelly tell you that the 'lot is cast into the lap, but its every decision is from the Lord'?"

I remained silent.

After a few moments, I spoke: "I miss Kelly."

"I know you do, sweetheart," Jessie said in a comforting tone. "Why don't you ever call him? You have his number."

I shook my head, rebuking with, "No, I don't want to put him in danger."

"Jonny…"

"I said 'No'."

She whispered, "Okay…"

I ran my hands through my hair in exasperation and said, "I just want Melissa back, to know Mom's alive... I know she is…"

"And Gwyn?"

I sighed and turned away from the ocean, out of Jessie's grasp. I started to walk towards the lighthouse but it wasn't there anymore. I was standing outside of the Mullinax residence with Sergeant Wade Carpenter of the Knox County Sheriff's Department. It was still nighttime and, apparently, the night that the parents met their respective demises. Wade surveyed the exterior of the three-bedroom single-story bungalow house with the green and white exterior. He shook his head as he walked through the opened front door and deeper into the house.

"What the fuck happened that night?" I pondered.

"I don't know, honey," Melissa said as she walked up beside me.

Her tired blue eyes were red from crying, drinking, or both. She was wearing her old deputy uniform.

"I wish I knew you were safe," I said softly.

Melissa nodded and gently kissed me on the lips.

"I would give anything just to be back at home, in bed, next to you, waking up to another day of work tomorrow instead of this nightmare," I continued. "I just want to wake up so bad."

"I know you do," Jessie said as she leaned in for another kiss, putting her arms around my neck. "I love you, baby; you'll get through this. We'll all get through this."

I was losing my mind.

I began to cry as I asked, "Why did you do it, Jessie? Why did you do that at school?"

"Yearbook," she whispered as she kissed me again.

Melissa whispered in my ear before she began probing it with her tongue, "Part of the plan…"

"Trust us…"

Instantly, they were gone. I was back at the edge of the cliff with the lighthouse overlooking the ocean. The stars shined brightly in the warm summer sky. I screamed at the ocean, the lighthouse, the mansion, demanding what was required of me to put an end to it. I looked down at my chest: now I was wearing my patrol uniform like Melissa was. I struggled for my gun, desperately trying to get it out of its holster.

"Jonny?"

I looked up.

"Oh no," I said. "Dear God, no, please, no, no more…"

Mom walked towards me, perplexed. She was dressed just the way I remembered her: pink and white blouse, blue jeans, and brown open-toed shoes. It was the way she looked before she left…

"What's wrong, honey?" she asked.

I stumbled backwards and ended up tripping over a rock.

"These tricks, these mind games," I shouted. "No more!"

Mom stopped, distressed as I was: "Jonny, what are you talking about?"

I managed to get my gun out of its holster.

"I'm talking about finally fucking ending this nonsense," I scorned. "If I can't have a normal life with a normal job, a normal relationship with people, normal friends, normal family, normal _anything_ , then, goddammit, I'm ending it."

"Ending what?"

Silently, I put the gun to my head and pulled the trigger. After the initial blast, there was darkness. In the darkness, I could hear sobbing.

"I told you not to make promises you couldn't keep," Jessie wept.


	83. Eighty-One

I jolted awake to Race gently shaking me and saying my name. My vision began to unblur as a hangover started to encompass my head.

"You okay, Jonny?" Jessie's father asked.

I looked up into his weary blue eyes and nodded.

I muttered, "Gatorade…"

"I'll get you some."

"Don't get that G2 bullshit… I'd rather drink from the toilet than have to drink that poor excuse for a beverage."

Race cracked a smile and gave me a soft slap on the shoulder before walking towards the exit. I had fallen asleep on the couch in a drunken stupor per the three empty bottles on the coffee table in front of me. In the interim, I needed a painkiller if I was going to be of any use within the next twelve hours. I pushed myself up onto my feet and fumbled my way to the bathroom. I didn't notice the sound of the shower running and opened the door, making a beeline for the white marble countertop and high-priced medicine cabinet.

As I rummaged through the extensive selection of available medications—some of them I was quite familiar with from relieving arrested individuals from—I could hear Jade ask from behind, "How are you feeling?"

I ripped open a pack of two Aleve capsules and filled the mouthwash cup with water.

"Like attending an AA meeting," I said. I turned around and saw her standing there holding a towel loosely in front of her in a poor attempt to cover herself.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Jade asked seductively.

Even after all these years, like Estella, Jade was very much deemed a "cougar."

I popped the pills and downed the cup of water.

"No," I said coolly. "I just never know how to properly act around you."

Jade flashed a sly smile and got closer to me, letting her towel drop to the floor. I tried desperately to maintain my composure. She slowly ran her hand up my inner thigh and against my crotch.

Jade began to press her nude, wet body into me as she whispered, "You know, I haven't had a good pounding in a long while… especially from a younger man…"

"Do you really think now is the appropriate time for that?" I managed to choke out.

"Hmm," she said before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek and picking up her towel.

"You men are too easy," Jade said playfully, patting me gently on the chest. "Now get out, I need to use the little girls room."

I exited the bathroom hastily and leaned against the door after shutting it. I ran my hand over my face and tried to get blood going back to my brain.

"God _damn_ that woman," I muttered on my way back to the living room.

I stood in front of the window overlooking the city, waiting patiently for Race to return. A large presence behind caused me to turn. Steve placed his hand on my shoulder for support. He had been changed into a loose black t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. The only thing that was missing were his trademark sunglasses.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," I said with a half-smile.

He returned the gesture, saying, "Tell me about it."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Estella woke me up about an hour ago and gave me some fentanyl. I was wearing steel-plated body armor that I lifted from the black site on my way out; they weren't too keen on my shoplifting. You ever get shot with a bulletproof vest?"

I shook my head, "No, but I imagine it's like getting a Dodge truck thrown at you by Superman."

"Something like that."

We both looked out the window.

"Look, Jonny," Steve said after a brief quiet moment. "I really am sorry for all of this. Jessie also tells me that Jade showed you some birth certificate on your fiancée, that she's supposedly your sister?"

I nodded: "Yeah…"

"I think it's horseshit, personally, but it seems that everyone with all the answers are either getting abducted or dying. No doubt they're desperately trying to get you come in on your own and not send a cleaner."

"Why do they want me to come in on my own?" I asked.

"Well, you are a very important person in Judith's eyes," Steve said. "She probably doesn't want to cause you any more ill regard other than what she's already accomplished."

We both fell silent again.

"Know anything about a project called 'Eden', Steve?" I asked.

"I believe I'm the one you should ask," Reno said, standing in the doorway to his bedroom. "And it's more than just a project: it's a place."

"I heard it was burned down?"

Reno walked across the living room slowly, exhibiting signs of arthritis. He stood beside us at the window.

"Out of the ashes came something much, much worse," he said with a solemn expression. "Something even worse than me."

I turned to him and asked, "What?"

Reno gave me an empty stare.

"You," he said.


	84. Eighty-Two

After breakfast, Reno requested everyone gather in the living room area. Phil brought the desktop computer and monitor from the bedroom and proceeded to hook the device up to the large LCD television that hung on the wall. I drew the curtains and took a seat on the couch next to Jessie. Reno drew the curtains and turned on the computer. After a few moments, the television screen sprung to life with a Windows 7 login screen. After logging in, the presenter sat down in one of the dining room chairs and opened a console that displayed the connected devices.

"If I didn't have the appropriate decryption key, we would've suffered a severe setback," he explained. "Barber used a shared key that only three other people knew. Who they are is irrelevant as is how I got a copy. This is his hard drive."

Reno opened the file explorer displaying the root of Garry Barber's hard drive. After a few clicks, a folder containing numerous other subfolders as well as documents and photographs appeared onscreen.

"We're going to start from the beginning. Normally, I would ask that I not be interrupted. However, given the circumstances, I think it's necessary that we hammer out all details and make sure everyone is on the same page. Does anyone have any questions so far?"

There weren't any takers.

"Let's begin."

On the screen appeared a seal adorned with an imperial eagle reminiscent of the Prussian Empire's coat of arms. Around the circumference of the seal was "NUSQUAM ESSE ORBIS"; below the shield on a banner was "IN HOC SIGNO VINCES".

"I'm going to assume everyone is aware of the Rothschild conspiracy, right?" Phil asked.

The conspiracy in question was the establishment of the Rothschild family banking line, starting with Mayer Amschel Rothschild through his appointment as the court Jew—a banker for the kingdom—in the Holy Roman Empire. Through the endowment left to his sons, the family established themselves across Europe and, eventually, in the United States. Along with fellow high-profile financial celebrities such as J.P. Morgan and the Rockefeller family, it was through their influence and power that monetary systems of industrialized nations would come under their control. In the United States, the Federal Reserve System was their modus operandi. At least, that's how the theories went.

Phil continued: "These men are nothing more than mere mannequins; marionettes, if you will. NEO was established, on estimate, around 1606, not long after Pope Paul V founded the first national bank in Europe. It is unknown if NEO was established as a response to the Catholic Church's sudden interests; could've been Jews, but who knows. The original charter of the organization states that the goal was to maintain a global status quo with the use of covert installment, maintaining, and removal of select governments."

Reno brought up a Mercator Projection of the world.

"As the years went by, people came and went, causing splinter groups to spring up, such as the Illuminati, Freemasons, Skull and Bones, and the Bilderberg Group."

"One thing that always kept coming up in debates," Phil said after a semi-exhaustive sigh. "Was the continual fascination with the governing bodies throughout the world and their many differences; managing all these different forms was getting exhausting and cumbersome. With the advent of the Magna Carta, one thing became clear: money and power were heavily entwined. During the time of the Revolutionary War, NEO was split on how to handle the situation. Whereas other continents had some, if not disheveled, foundation from which their governments sprang forth. They often had established currencies, a steady population base, and documented areas of their boundaries."

The next screen was a painting of September 7th, 1778, the day the United States Constitution was signed.

"It was here in the Constitution, carefully removed from the history books, that some safeguards were put into place to help steer things while NEO formally established itself in the new North American country. Unfortunately, one little detail got away from them…"

Reno brought up a painting of a southern plantation.

Phil took a drink from his bottled water.

"If you read the original constitution, slaves counted as three-fifths of a person," he continued. "Recall from high school civics that the House of Representatives is determined by the population of a state: more slaves, more representation in Congress. That was one of the ticking time-bombs NEO failed miserably to account for and one that detractors had no problem taking advantage of. With states seceding from the union with the focus on restoring power to the lower population instead of a centralized point, the country seemed to be slipping away from them. This could lead to friction in the global scale of things; something had to be done, and quickly. NEO employed John Wilkes Booth to assassinate Lincoln before snuffing him out to keep his mouth shut. After the war and readmission of the states, the powers that be figured that the world would be relatively quiet."

A collage of images from World War I appeared onscreen.

Phil looked onward, saying, "The Great War and its subsequent predecessors, such as the Boxer Rebellion, was a mixed blessing, in a sense: it was the first step in NEO's grand vision of a global, unified society of distributed power from a centralized source, a form of rule that they feel would work for the rest of mankind. Unification of all countries under one banner while giving the people the illusion of self-control. Thus, the League of Nations was birthed and rooted. But the work was far from over, especially with the greater distribution of information thanks to technology. It was becoming much easier for those deemed undesirable to weasel their way into the ranks using blackmail, espionage, and other tactics."

The next slide consisted of a collage of Europe leading up to the events that ignited the second war.

"The orient was proving to be a tough nut to crack. The Japanese empire was damn near impenetrable, while China was busy imploding with the Chinese Civil War. NEO managed to force Nicholas II to abdicate his position and give way to the establishment of the soviet state; they hoped that it could serve as a test bed for an alternative to the subtleness of the United States. Meanwhile, detractors were propping up the Axis of Evil in hopes of overthrowing the ruling council. You can see how that turned out."

Reno pulled up a picture of the United Nations.

"The UN is a front for NEO?" I asked.

"It's a public arena of what middle-management trudges through. In actuality, all governance takes place in a Himalayan village known as Bara Bangal."

Race spoke up, asking, "Where the hell is _that_?"

"Let's just say that even Google maps sometimes has trouble finding it," Phil replied. "I've never been there personally; I've heard that there's an underground high-speed train though that can take you there over the course of a day. The real people that control this planet meet there."

Reno brought up a hierarchy chart.

"This is an organization chart of NEO," he said, giving Phil a break. "Every five years, the head changes. I hear the selection process is quite interesting."

"At the top is the chancellor," Phil explained. "Below him or her are the vice-chancellors that comprise the council of all recognized countries and territories. Each vice-chancellor has respective premiers, presidents, dictators, what have you, each with their own repeated structure of deputy-premiers and governors that handle the lower-level functions, like managing representatives, senators, parliamentary members, the list goes on. All of it aggregates back up to the top."

"This looks more like a goddamn Walmart store hierarchy," I lamented. "How the hell do they keep people in check?"

Reno closed the presentation and opened a few scanned documents.

"I can't divulge that at this moment," Phil said. "Let's just say every worst fear you have about being eavesdropped on through your computer, your cellular device, in public… it's true."

I sighed, "Fucking peachy."

"It's time to focus on what Barber was working on, what we're up against, and what went wrong."

Steve tossed a soft pack of Marlboro reds and a disposable lighter. As I lit my first cancer stick, the screen showed an image of Jeremiah Surd standing with a team of other scientists. A blonde woman caught my attention almost immediately.

It was my mother.


	85. PART THREE: PLOWED

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Son," Dad said as we ate dinner.

I had been a member of the Rockport police department for three months so far. My supervisor thought I was doing a great job and made the remark he wouldn't be surprised if he saw me rise through the ranks and be running the place eventually. I put my knife and fork down; the ribeye Race had cooked just couldn't erase what I had seen in the past few weeks.

"I… I saw my first body yesterday," I said.

Race quietly left the table to retrieve alcohol, nature's best inhibition lowering device. Elena was sitting across from me; she reached out and placed her hand on my wrist.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, Jonny," she said with worry in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

My shift had ended about an hour prior so I was still in my uniform. Race returned with a gin-and-tonic and slid it to me. I took it with a small smile before gulping it down.

"Last month, a high school girl here in Rockport attracted a stalker. We tried to get a beat on him but the fucker was just too slippery, like he was made of goddamn Teflon. He would leave clasped envelopes in her mailbox with a picture of her, custom developed himself as none of the local pharmacies had a record of it. He kept calling her his…"

I rubbed my face.

"…red-headed goddess."

Dad exclaimed, "My God, Son. What happened since then?"

"The detective from the sheriff's department, Evie Rivas, managed to find out where this guy was holed up," I said. "Since I knew the area well, she asked if I could accompany her in case he was there and bolted. He wasn't at home, but the dude had hundreds of pictures of the girl plastered all over his walls in a back room like wallpaper. I've seen obsession stories on Investigation Discovery and things like that, but when you see it in person…"

"He didn't kill her, did he?" Elena asked.

I continued: "Well, not quite. The victim and her boyfriend were ambushed in Cramer Park. He managed to subdue the boyfriend and kidnap her at knifepoint. An entire dragnet was put out all over the county. I don't know how long it took to find the house where he took her to, but I know that I felt like my adrenal glands were going to explode. I don't know how I managed to be the first one there. It was some abandoned house, looked like somewhere johns would take hookers or drug deals, that sort of thing."

I asked Race if I could have another gin-and-tonic. He obliged and returned shortly with a full glass.

"I stopped at the lot next to the house and radioed my position. I got out and started to approach, gun drawn, when I noticed somebody sitting on the front porch. As I got closer, I realized it was the girl, the victim of the stalker. She was huddled over with her knees pulled up to her chest, crying uncontrollably. She bolted towards me when I came into view. I didn't want to leave her alone but I knew I had to make sure the scene was safe, especially since she kept screaming about somebody getting stabbed. I slowly entered the dilapidated house and called out. From the back bedroom came the boyfriend. He was missing a shirt and he had blood on his arms."

I drank the glass Race had prepared.

"He just stood there," I said. "No matter how many times I tried to coax him to come to me. I slowly approached him and looked in the back bedroom. On the floor, face up, was the body of the alleged stalker, a high school kid as well, with a knife holding him to the floor through his breastplate. I turned to the boyfriend and asked him what happened. He just stared at me like I didn't exist before leaving out the front where more officers were gathering. I put on my latex gloves and got down on my knees next to the stalker. He had a little life left in him. He managed to wheeze out how the boyfriend ruined it all and hoped they would go to hell. Then this awful gurgling sound erupted from his lungs and he expired right in front of me."

"Jesus Christ," Race said in disbelief. "Jonny, I'm so sorry…"

I put my face in my hands.

"That's not the worst of it," I said.

Everyone was silent.

I looked back up. After taking a deep inhale, I told Dad the name of the boy and girl that were attacked. Dad fell back into his chair.

" _Those_ were the victims?" Race asked, also in disbelief.

I nodded silently.

"It was Jessica and Jonathan," I said. "Jon's still not talking; they think he's in too much shock. Jessie can't stop crying. I wish our Jessie was here… the girl is going to be scarred for the rest of her life. I wish…"

I trailed off.

"That you could've done something sooner?" Elena asked.

"No," I said before picking up my knife and fork, resuming my meal. "I wish I was the one that got to that worthless piece of shit before he got to them. They'd never find his goddamn body."

Everyone else looked down to their plates and resumed eating quietly.

"I love those kids, even though I'm still much of a kid myself," I said to my plate. "And I let them down."

Dad tried to console me by saying, "Son…"

I cut him off: "No. I know what you're going to say, and you're wrong. I should've stayed with them or told them to stay with me. Jon is so fucking stubborn though, he thinks he can overcome anything. I tried to level with him, be realistic about what could happen if they weren't careful. But they didn't listen, did they? No… they decided to put themselves in a situation where I COULDN'T FUCKING HELP AND NOW LOOK WHAT HAPPENED!"

I slammed both fists onto the table. Dad, Elena, and Race sat back in awe, unsure of what to do.

I looked around in embarrassment and lowered my head.

"I… I'm sorry," I said softly. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're being human, Jonny," Elena said reassuringly.

"And that's what makes him a good officer," Billy's voice echoed from above me.

I turned around and saw my mentor along with Detective Mendes standing in the doorway to the dining room.

"Where the hell did you come from?" I asked.

"The front door like any sane person," Evie said. "Hi Dr. Quest, Mr. and Mrs. Bannon, I'm Evie Mendes with the Knox County Sheriff's Department. May we join your family tonight? Billy had a hunch that Jonny needed some friends tonight."

Dad smiled his reassuring smile and replied, "That doesn't sound like a bad idea at all."

Evie walked forward and put her hands on my shoulders.

"Come on," she whispered. "Let's order a pizza and talk."

I couldn't help but smile.

"You do this to all rookies?" I asked.

"Only the cute ones. Unfortunately, your department is all out of them, so it's either you or nothing, hotshot."

As reality creeped back in, I was back on the couch in the suite, preparing to be debriefed on the nightmare that was consuming my world. I made a mental note to check on Jessie, Jon, and Evie in the event that I lived to see another day.

"I'm sorry, Billy," I whispered with a heavy sigh before signaling my readiness to continue.


	86. Eighty-Four

"Jeremiah Surd, Rachel Wildey, three other psychologists whose names and identities have been redacted to protect them, me, and the team lead, Thomas Earley, comprised a task force with the goal of studying false memory installation," Phil said, reading off the Microsoft Word document Reno opened from Barber's hard drive. "The goal was simple: to streamline memory installation, manipulation, and coercion without the need for repetitive hypnosis, enduring therapy, or the problem of proactive vengeance and blackmail."

"The group focused on two primary methodologies: chemically and electronically. Jeremiah focused on the electronical aspect while Rachel was partnered with the other two who focused on the chemical and physiological method. Rachel's group managed to create ten groups with a success rate of sixty percent utilizing genetically modified protein samples and growth hormones added to food and water as well as the introduction of trigger phrases that would activate the subject on command."

"Jeremiah Surd was relocated to the Chicago area to continue research. Unfortunately, a falling out occurred with the upper echelons of the organization. In response to their unwillingness to provide extra funding, he attempted to release sarin gas throughout the center city limits. A full report of this can be read under the following documents… I think we all know how that turned out."

"No wonder you're not in charge of the jail," Jade muttered.

I flipped her off in response.

Phil cleared his throat before continuing, "A scheme was implemented to utilize people deemed less desirable by normal societal conventions, hence vagrants, hookers, illegal aliens, drug dealers and users, et cetera as sleeper cells to carry out covert activities as dictated by their regional supervisors. If proven successful, other, more specialized candidates would be selected, inducted, and deployed throughout the world. For reasons that are unbeknownst to me, this was to stay focused only in the North American operations. The orders that came down were that if any of this were shared, well, you can probably imagine the consequences."

I glanced over at Reno. He kept focused on the screen.

"Doctor Benton Quest, the man who managed to use his expertise in forensic anthropology to help reconstruct the Cleaner, married Rachel after the Eden team dissolved. I think the two had been seeing each other for a few years up until that point. Jonny, if you're reading this, I'm sure you are anxious to find out the status of your mother. From what I know, you've been told that she was killed overseas by Dr. Kitbuqa, or, as you know him, Zin. What you don't know, or, rather, what you haven't been told if not already is that your mother has a twin sister. Her name is Judith Waterston; her birth name was scrubbed from all documents. Whatever medical records that exist on her are tucked away somewhere that only God Himself knows."

A picture of a Danvers State Hospital in Danvers, Massachusetts appeared.

"She suffers from schizophrenia, depersonalization disorder, and solipsism syndrome. To make matters worse, she is highly intelligent. She didn't become the head of NEO ten years ago by accident. This was a systematic plan she put into action a long time ago. Now, concerning your mother… when you graduated from high school back in 2001, I was there doing a personal favor for a friend. After you received your diploma, a woman whispered in my ear how proud she was of you. I turned around and caught a glimpse of a woman that I for sure know was Rachel. I followed her out to the parking lot and managed to stop her but she refused to look at me. I asked her if it was really her. She refused to say, stating only that Judith had managed to figure out a way to be released from intensive care. She told me that she would be in touch. The years passed and, sure enough, Judith took the helm. I don't know what she wants, Jonny, but I do know that she wants you. She thinks you're her son if you haven't figured it out by now. Whether you are or not is beyond me; I do know that your father did have many intimate encounters with her, but I do not know if it was willingly or under duress. That is something you'll have to ask him directly… and that's only if he's willing to talk."

Reno scrolled to the next page.

"There are black sites all over the world, each operated by a different government with different branches operating each one. In the United States, most black sites are operated under the CIA umbrella and the Intelligence bureau, mainly Intelligence Six and Intelligence Nine. These will be unknown to Roger Bannon as someone of his rank would not be privy to that kind of information. Philip Corbin, his superior, may have access to the complete list. I only know of a few offhand and their codenames: Chicago is Black Box; Miami is Cuban Cigar; San Francisco is Taco Bell. There are many others, so be careful not to accidentally wander into one of them, or worse."

The next page was a map with a heavily red circled area. It looked like an area near the North Pole.

"This is the Qikiqtaaluk Region in Nunavut, Canada. Two miles west of it is the Chancellery Compound, two-hundred acres of a commercialized military complex. This is where the Chancellor of the North American operations resides and carries out functions assigned to them by the board. If Judith isn't there, then I am sure you can persuade someone to tell you where to find her. Jonny, we may never meet, and I want you to know that I hope and pray that your mother is alive and you deserve to see her. Like you, that cemetery plot in town is full of mystery, but I myself cannot risk your life or the lives of countless others possessed by this goddamned program that I took part in, to open Pandora's Box and find out. I imagine by now, people have already been killed. It is my hope that I can deliver this to you in person and we can talk, even stop this madness together, if possible."

Reno scrolled to the next page which was the final one.

"I just had a phone call. I don't know if that was Rachel but… Jesus, it sounded just like her… She said that a cleanup operation is underway and that cleaners are being deployed. Tomorrow morning, I'm taking a woman named Pamela Hoyle with me to your father; I cannot do it now as I'm probably being watched. I have no doubt that they will try to get to me before you do. You cannot trust anyone, not your family, not your coworkers, not your best friends… You can only trust yourself, but even that is questionable."

The document ended with "See yearbook pages. Forgive me."

Reno closed the Word document. Phil lit a cigarette. I got up and walked over to the computer.

"May I take a look?" I asked.

Reno nodded silently and stood up from his seat. I sat down in front of the keyboard and began navigating through the folders. Everyone was silent as I perused through each file until I came across a set of scanned images.

Scanned images of the yearbook pages.

I began opening each one. Images of each student plastered across the screen with random letters assigned to various people. Some had a question mark while others had an "X" crossed through their face. I found the staff page and stopped.

 _Why is the chorus teacher blacked out?_

Something was happening inside my head. Something bad.

The room began to spin. I was feeling nauseated. I could hear people saying my name but I couldn't respond. I tried to stand up, using a nearby dining room chair to stable myself. It tipped over and sent me falling forward. I crashed head first through a glass end table with nothing but dead weight pulling me down. I hit the floor with a thud and blacked out.

"I love you," she whispered.

Her red hair was damp with sweat.

I remembered.

Oh, God, I remembered…


	87. Eighty-Five

My head felt like a crowbar had impacted it with the aid of a tornado.

"How are you feeling?" I could hear Jessie ask softly.

I groaned slightly and rolled my head to the side. I could feel gauze and medical tape wrapped around my forehead. I opened my eyes slowly and let the world slide into focus. I was lying in the bedroom that Race and Estella had slept in.

"How long was I out?" I whispered.

"A few hours, at least," Jessie said as she caressed my cheek. "You were having seizures. Something must've triggered you, something about the yearbook."

My gaze shifted a little higher. The doctor from the hospital, Christine, stood behind her.

She spoke softly into Jessie's ear: "If I may, Miss Bannon, I need to tend to Jonny. Would you shut the door on your way out? I wish to speak to him privately."

Jessie sighed and nodded solemnly before quietly leaving the room, closing the door as she was requested. Christine was wearing a gray sweatshirt with black leggings and sneakers; she must've been jogging.

" _How do you feel?_ " she asked, switching to French.

I blinked a few times and settled into consciousness.

" _Head hurts_ ," I replied weakly. " _Who brought you here?_ "

" _Reno called me and Miss Kenyon retrieved me. I've been briefed on what's going on and what happened. Can you tell me what you were feeling when you collapsed?_ "

I explained the yearbook mystery, the photo, and what I remembered.

Christine asked, " _You were wrong about Jessica having the affair?_ "

" _Yes_ ," I said. " _...it was my brother. They were having an affair, but I don't know who the hell programmed me and Jessie…_ "

" _I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance in that area, Jonathan. Where is your brother now? Is he safe?_ "

" _I have no idea; I need to get in touch with him to make sure he's okay. One of my cohorts said that my father had surrendered to the cleaning crew in exchange for Hadji's safety._ "

" _Is that your brother's name: Hadji?_ " Christine asked.

" _Yes,_ " I said. " _Do you have any way of getting a message to him… if I give you the number?_ "

" _I can; I have a secure connection an hour away from here at my disposal. Hopefully it's far enough out that it won't lead them to believe you're here. Though, with me coming here, that may have already tipped them off._ "

I gave the doctor a number only Hadji would have access to as well as what to tell him. Christine promised me she would do her best. She picked up a stethoscope and took my vitals. After examining my pupils, she helped me sit straight up.

" _Christine, if I may,_ " I began earnestly. " _Do you know anything about a Deep Recognizance project?_ "

Christine looked at me cautiously.

Gingerly she asked, " _What do you want to know?_ "

I explained what I had learned from Garry Barber's files and how they greatly excluded the DR project.

" _I can tell you this,_ " Christine said. " _I know for a fact your mother did not want you involved with her work. However, there were discovered deficiencies in the original project she was assigned. It is my understanding that after Jeremiah Surd's failed assault on the city of Chicago, his materials were taken up by Thomas Earley. I believe he wanted to combine the results of both projects to have an ironclad ability to control what people thought, did, or said. From what you've experienced, I believe we both can agree that not all the bugs have been worked out._ "

Jessie pushed the door open.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said in a worried tone. "But we've got trouble. Can he walk?"

I slid off the bed and nearly fell in the floor, catching myself on the nightstand.

"Not really," Christine sighed. "But we don't have a choice. I'm sorry; they must've followed me."

I grabbed her arm, saying, "Wait… Jessie, go get those smocks that she gave us."

Jessie returned silently and handed me my doctor's coat with badge. I slipped it on and buttoned it up to hide my street clothes after attaching my holster to my belt. Jessie followed suit.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked.

I responded back, "What kind of trouble are we facing?"

"Jade is doing lookout on the lobby with Mom while the rest have gone to secure our transport. Jade says it's a cleaner; they're wearing fatigues with the diamond hazmat symbol on the shoulder patches."

For fuck's sake.

"Are they coming up the elevator or fire escape?"

"I don't know," Jessie said. "Jade didn't say."

I turned to Christine: "Walk twelve feet in front of us. Do not make eye contact. Pretend you don't know us. We're just two doctors on our way out. Understood?"

She nodded in compliance.

"I've already packed up all of our stuff back into the duffel bag, Jonny," Jessie added. "I took the hard drive out of the computer as well."

I nodded, saying, "Good. Come on, let's get the hell out of here while we can."

We exited the room and made our way to the elevator. I dropped the duffel bag on the car floor and leaned against the wall for support. I'm sure I had a concussion but there wasn't much I could do about it given the situation. As the doors closed, a loud bang emitted from the fire escape across the hallway. The fire escape door leading up to this floor was a one-way exit; to get around it, they would have to either blast their way or weld.

Welding would've taken too long and would've been a lot quieter.

The elevator car began its descent. I looked over at Jessie. She gave my left hand a small squeeze.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's not your fault, sweetie," she whispered back.

"No, not about that… about what I said earlier… concerning the teacher incident…"

Jessie looked at me quizzically.

"I know it was Hadji, Jess," I said.

She quickly looked away in shame.

"You know I'm going to ask who eventually."

I was met with silence.

The elevator came to a slow halt. The doors opened to reveal the lobby. We exited with Christine taking a lead. I motioned to Estella and Jade to follow suit as we started walking towards the exit. A hand reached out and grabbed the back of my collar and pulled with such force that I was thrown head first into one of the guest services desks. I could hear Estella screaming as I looked up into the eyes of the woman who was sent to retrieve me.

"Jonny," she said in a motherly tone. "It's time to come home."

I slipped back into darkness.


	88. Eighty-Six

I wasn't one for being callous. However, there were some situations in which all morality was thrown out the window in favor of delivering some much-needed justice to a dickhead who had it coming. I crawled out from underneath the Pontiac Firebird and slipped my tube cutters into my back pocket before wiping my greasy hands on my jeans. There was still one matter I needed to address: why was I the target? Or, more particularly, my dog, Bandit.

The guy's name was Mason Davenport. His mother was the high school music teacher while his dad worked for the city. He had a sister, Tracy, who not only was the same age as me, but also had a huge crush on me.

Not that I could blame her.

She was rather cute, too, with large bangs and cute frameless glasses that gave her the shy "girl next door" appearance that would probably leave claw marks on your back.

The Davenport family lived in a housing development off Wellington Drive near the local Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Their house was a nice two-story colonial with dark gray vinyl siding and complementing roof. Because the area was still rather wooded, I was able to sneak in rather undetected save for the occasional dog barking. I quietly worked my way around the shrubbery to the side of the house and peered into the living room window.

A soft female voice whispered in my ear, "If you wanted to see me, you don't need to get Mason's permission."

I slowly turned around and met the bright brown eyes of Misty Davenport. I glanced down at the low cut black sleeveless top she was wearing and then back up at her gorgeous smile that could make knees struck with rigor mortis weak. She motioned me to follow her towards the woods. Together, we quickly traipsed across the mowed grass and over the mulch barrier into the brush.

"There's a clearing back here that I like to escape to," Misty explained as we pressed on through the trees.

Sure enough, we came upon a small opening in the woods. In the center was a small fire pit with a blue tent nearby.

"Can't stand home, huh?" I asked.

Misty took my hand and said, "All Mom ever does is bitch and Dad works so much I hardly ever get to see him. Come on, over here."

We took a seat on the floor of the two-man tent facing the fire pit.

"So… what brings you out here?" she asked.

"I wanted to know why your brother is giving me a lot of shit," I replied. "He's been trying to beat my ass for the past year; last I checked, I haven't done anything to him. In fact, I could care less about that shithead. Oh, I'm sorry, no offense…"

Misty smiled and wiped her glasses on her top.

"It's okay," she said. "He's big enough to hold his own."

I studied her face for a moment as she slipped her spectacles back on.

"You know what it's about then?"

She nodded, saying, "Yeah, I'm surprised you don't."

"Care to clue me in?"

Misty scooted closer and looked outside briefly, like she was making sure we were truly alone.

"Listen," she whispered. "I don't know what it's about, but it's concerning your brother."

I leaned in and gave her a nonverbal indication to continue.

"I know what he did to Bandit… I told him not to do that but he's so fucking insane right now. I think your brother is sleeping with my mom."

"Get the hell out," I said.

Misty shushed me.

"Not so loud!" she scolded in a hushed tone. "Mason might be looking for me. Anyway, I've been meaning to give you this…"

She reached into the back pocket of her shorts and removed a folded piece of notebook paper. I opened it up and read it: it was a love note.

Composed in Hadji's impeccable handwriting.

I shrugged, stating, "It's just a love note written by Hadji addressed to her. It's enough to pique my interest but not enough to convince me. Nor does it get your brother off my shit list for killing my dog."

"What do you want me to do, record their phone calls?" she protested. "They call each other while my dad's asleep. Look, don't want Mom getting into trouble even if she is a pain in the ass. You can do whatever you want with my brother—he took things too far, especially by targeting you—just, please… don't do anything insanely stupid. There's enough of that going on as it is. Of course, you're probably used to it…"

"I wouldn't be so sure. I'm actually getting tired of having to live this lifestyle."

"What's not to love about it? You get to travel the world, see interesting things…"

"…nearly get killed at every turn," I interjected. "It's not as glamorous as you'd think. I would do anything just to be a normal teenager doing normal things."

"At least you've got Jessie…"

I could see Misty recoil a little bit at her own mention of my girlfriend's name. I placed my hand on top of hers and gave a slight squeeze. Without warning, Misty leapt forward onto me, pressing her lips onto mine and pushing her tongue into my mouth. After the initial shock wore off, I began to return the affection as I slowly wrapped my arms around her. Together, we gently fell backwards onto the canvas floor of the tent.

After a few minutes of tongue wrestling, Misty pulled back slowly and lowered her head onto my chest. I stroked her long dark brown hair.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just wanted to get that out of my system."

I reassured her, "Don't be sorry. I wanted it, too."

"You're such a slut."

"It's not that," I objected gently. "It just… it just felt normal."

She nodded.

We slowly drifted off to sleep. Other voices began to make their presence known in my head. I knew I was still dreaming because they were from a different time. Trapped in the darkness, all I could do was listen and wait.

"I don't think this is the right thing to do, Benton," Race said. "In fact, I'm not comfortable with this at all. We shouldn't be doing this. They're already doing it on other kids…"

Dad responded in an exasperated voice: "I know, Roger, I know… I don't know what else to do, he's my _son_ goddammit. I'm only doing this to protect him."

" _What the hell are you doing to him?_ " Jessie shrieked.

"Jessica, you said you'd stay calm," Race said in a firm voice to his daughter. "Hadji, can you take her outside for a little bit?"

Jessie continued to protest loudly as Hadji tried to coax her to come with him. He finally gave up and plead with our parents for her to stay in the same room. Dad and Race relented.

Jessie then began to berate Hadji.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!" she screamed. "YOU STARTED THIS MESS! A FUCKING TEACHER, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Dad shouted for everyone to immediately cease talking using some colorful vocabulary that was unexpected for a man of his character.

I could hear Jessie sobbing.

"This may not even work," Race continued. "Didn't Earley say he had some sort of protein that would inhibit the reaction? Doesn't he need an implant of some sort?"

"Jonathan," Dad said. "Do you remember Misty Davenport?"

"Yes," I responded flatly.

"What do you remember about her?"

I described her physical appearance, her family relationships, how her brother killed bandit, how I disconnected the brakes in said brother's car, how brother was now a quadriplegic after bouncing off a brick wall and slamming into a utility pole trying to chase Hadji through town, and vivid details of the numerous sexual encounters her mother and Hadji were having…

"Very good," Dad continued. "Do you remember what happened last month?"

Misty's parents had separated in the year since I exacted my revenge. Her mother resigned from her teaching position citing the new duties of caring for her son. Rumor had it that, once the divorce was finalized, she was going to pack up and leave the state and take both Misty and her brother along. When it was brought up at a family meeting that it probably would be best that the siblings go with their mother and leave their father behind, Misty went ballistic. To her, it was all a ploy to get her as far away from me as possible as well as never see her father again.

In a fit of blind rage, Misty Davenport stole her father's semiautomatic firearm and carjacked his Toyota Camry. A high-speed chase ensued on U.S. highway one after her parents called the police. Officer Wade carpenter managed to perform a pit maneuver on the vehicle wherein the police cruiser is used to bump or push the rear bumper of the suspect car, causing it to lose control. The girl lost control of the vehicle and crashed into a power pole. Barely sixteen years old, Misty Davenport exited the stolen vehicle with her father's gun firing. Wade had no choice but to defend himself, firing his service shotgun at her at close range. Essentially dying on her way to the ground, her last words from the breath in her lungs to Wade were begging forgiveness from her father.

My father sighed.

"Very good, Son," he said. "I want you to forget that Misty Davenport existed. Do you understand?"

Again, I responded with: "Yes."

"You will forget what happened to Mason Davenport."

"Yes."

Dad stopped. I could hear him walk around for a moment.

"I don't know what to do about the affair," he said.

"I'll do it," Jessie said, her voice cracking.

"Ponchita, no! Don't do this!" Race shouted.

Dad agreed, saying, "Jessica, I know you want to help…"

"NO!" she screamed before breaking down into tears. "He… he needs his brother… more than he ever will need me…"

"Jessie," Hadji said. "Please don't do this."

"I have to. You loved that… that woman, right? Well… I love Jonny… this is the only way…"

"But he'll probably hate you! Jesus, Jessie, think about this!"

"I DID THINK ABOUT IT YOU TOWEL-HEADED FUCKWAD!" she cried. "HE LOOKS UP TO YOU! HE TRUSTS YOU! YOU'RE HIS DAMN BROTHER!"

Race shouted as loud as he could to Jessie. She responded by telling him to "fuck off" six ways from Sunday.

I could hear her walk across the floor and stand in front of me.

"Hadji did not have an affair with Elizabeth Davenport," she said. "I did. Repeat."

"Hadji did not have an affair with Elizabeth Davenport," I responded. "You did."

"Jessie, we can always go back and reverse it later," Dad said. "This isn't a permanent thing."

She sighed, "I don't care if it's permanent or temporary. It'll make it easier."

"I don't understand?"

I could hear Jessie murmur, "I'm joining the Marine Corps."

"What, sweetheart?" Race asked.

"I said I'm joining the Marine Corps."

There was an astounding silence.

"End," Jessie said.

The sound of silence reverberated throughout my spirit as time passed. I started to regain some consciousness as unknown sounds from my surroundings began to fill the void but my eyes could not be opened.

It was when a soft hand placed itself on the side of my face and a gentle kiss on my forehead that I knew one of two things.

I was either dead and in Heaven.

Or I was about to be plowed under into an even deeper depth of Hell.


	89. Eighty-Seven

I could hear an EKG monitor and ventilator. Then the notification sounds and warnings of other life support equipment. The sensation of feeling started to come back into my body as a warmness overtook me. It smelled like a hospital, sounded like a hospital, but there was only one way to find out.

With some effort, I managed to open my eyes and take in a blast of fluorescent lighting.

After adjusting, I looked around: I was in an intensive care bay. My room was larger than the average hospital room and contained a toilet, sink and private shower. Near the bed was a recliner that looked like it had been previously occupied as there was a paperback book in the seat. A large sliding glass door provided access to a polished nurse's station where three nurses in dark blue scrubs. I reached over and pressed the "Call" button. One of the nurses at the station—a green-eyed blonde with a heavy build—came over and pushed open my door. At the sight of me being conscious she expressed a wide smile.

"Glad to see you're finally awake," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Where am I?" I asked in a raspy voice. My throat was dry; I must've had a breathing tube inserted.

"You're in the intensive care unit, Mr. Quest," the nurse said as she verified my vitals on the equipment. "Your family is here waiting."

I looked at her with an acute expression: "Family…?"

"Sure. Well, your wife and daughter have been here since you arrived. I'll go get them."

She left the room without shutting the door. I tried to move but my body refused to cooperate; I was still extremely weak. I frantically looked around the room for any indication of what hospital I was in, what time it was, anything that would anchor me into sanity. Defeated, I sunk back into my pillows and clutched the heavy linen sheets that covered me. I slowly closed my eyes, exhausted from what little activity I could perform.

I fell asleep briefly for an unspecified amount of time. It was then I heard her voice.

"Jonny? Wake up sweetie…"

That voice. I knew it… I could never forget it…

No… I was dreaming…

"Come on, wake up…"

"I don't know how," I said softly.

The voice laughed a little, saying, "You used to say that when I would try to wake up for school. Do you remember what I would say?"

I took a deep breath and responded, "You'd say… 'it's not rocket science, just open your eyes.' But I'm dreaming…"

"You're not dreaming," the nurse said. "Mr. Quest, your mother is right beside you."

I slowly opened my eyes.

"Hi Jonny."

Her beautiful blue eyes looked lovingly into mine. Her blonde hair mended with shades of gray that flowed gracefully past her shoulders. Her graceful face was very redolent of Jane Seymour: soft curves and bright smile. I reached over on the opposite side, grabbing for water that wasn't there. The nurse handed me a small soft drink after opening it for me. I drank a large sip and took a few deep breaths, trying desperately to contain my composure.

I whispered in disbelief, "Mom…"

I reached out for her, anxiously grabbing for her neck. She immediately lowered the bed rail and sat on the edge of the mattress, putting her arms around me as I held on tight and wept without any regard. I slowly pulled back and looked at her. She smiled warmly and gently rubbed my face.

"Wh… where am I?" I asked.

"You're in the hospital, silly," Mom said. "You've been in a coma for the past three weeks. It's the twelfth of July now."

I gasped, "Damn… that bitch must've hurled me like a fucking Frisbee…"

"Do what, sweetheart?"

I explained to Mom that the last thing I remembered was being hurled head first into a concierge's podium by a blonde lady who was sent to retrieve me. Mom gently kissed my forehead and held onto me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I think you're imaging things, Dear," she explained. "You had the back of your skull cracked open by some bulimic girl with a big yellow crowbar while serving a search warrant."

I pulled away again and gave her a confused look: "Huh?"

Melissa walked into the room.

"Jonny," she whispered.

Mom turned around and smiled, saying, "He's finally awake. I'll leave you two alone and go take Gwyn downstairs for some ice cream or something."

She got up, gave me one more kiss on the cheek, and quietly left, sliding the door shut behind her. Melissa was wearing a black Hanes cotton tee and blue jeans, my signature style when I was younger. She sat down on the bed and we quickly embraced.

"Thank God you're alive," she whispered.

I could feel her tears starting to stain my hospital gown. I held on tighter.

"Please, please tell me you're okay," I said. "Where am I? What did they do? Where's Judith."

Melissa leaned back and we kissed for what seemed like an eternity. After breaking loose, she wiped her eyes.

"You're safe here," she said. "This is a hospital where we won't be bothered."

"Melissa," I said firmly.

Melissa finished wiping her face with the back of her hands, continuing, "You know how the paparazzi are. They still harass your father after all these years even in retirement."

She forced a smile and took my left hand, paying special attention to my ring finger. It was then that I noticed it as well: a tungsten wedding band adorned my finger.

Melissa noticed my expression: "What's wrong, honey?"

"…we're married?" I asked.

She raised my hand and kissed it, holding it firmly in hers.

"We are," she said adamantly. "They said your memory might be a little hazy as you took a pretty hard hit. They took the bandages off the back of your head just the other day. You keep your hair so short these days they didn't have much to trim off. The staples should be coming out tomorrow or the next day since you're awake now."

I motioned for a mirror. Melissa got up and went to the sink where a small handheld vanity mirror was available. I examined the handiwork that was done; a large row of staples went from the top of my head down the back around my left ear.

"You had a subdural hematoma," she explained. "They also screwed your skull back together."

I handed the mirror back. I tried frantically to think of one of the safety measures Melissa and I developed in secret to communicate in situations where it wasn't safe to speak freely.

Then I remembered we were both police officers.

"Honey," I said. "Is it 10-30?"

Melissa looked at the clock and shook her head, saying, "No, it's four o'clock."

"Are you sure it's _not_ 10-30?"

Melissa slowly sat back on the bed and looked around. She leaned in forward.

"Jonny," she whispered. "It would be 10-0 then."

I breathed a sigh of relief. 10-30 was the code for danger or caution while 10-0 was the code for "use caution." Melissa was visibly wary as she had a better understanding of any danger we were in.

"Good. How have you been? And Gwyn?" I asked.

She took my hand again, "Stressed; worrying about you. Gwyn's doing a lot better here, though. She's a hybrid mix of becoming an adolescent and scared four year old child. She wouldn't stop crying the second she saw you when they brought you in. She really loves Rachel, it seems."

I gave her a concerned look.

"10-107," Melissa said.

That meant she was suspicious. Given what we knew and the possible volatility of Judith, she could just as well be controlling Mom if not masquerading as her. A part of me just knew the woman who woke me up was Mom.

But…

"Daddy?" I could hear Gwyn's voice come from the entrance of the room.

Melissa stood up and made way for her as she tore across the room. Gwyn was wearing a dark green shirt and jeans like Melissa. Her beautiful brown hair had been woven into an equally beautiful braid that ran down her back. We held onto each other hard.

"I thought you were dead," she wept.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said as I rocked her back and forth. "I promised you I wouldn't."

I looked up at Melissa and Mom—at least, who I felt was Mom—for moral support. Mom put her hands on Melissa's shoulders and the two cried silently as I comforted the child.

This child had lost everything because of me.

Yet, here she was, calling me her father.

Whatever the case was, I wanted to take her away from this and let her have what I couldn't have: a normal life. I made my vow then that I would not stop until I was convinced she was safe or in a position where she would be able to defend herself adequately.

Even till my last breath, I promised.


	90. Eighty-Eight

The staples were removed the following afternoon. Mom stayed in the room with me all night, pulling the chair up next to me. There really was no safe way for me to vouch whether she truly was my mother or Judith; all I had to go on was instinct. Any notes or other artifacts that had her handwriting on it were long gone. Even then, who was to say that Judith didn't write them to begin with? To play it safe, I was cautious, but damn it was such a feeling of elation to have a fifty-fifty chance of seeing my mother again and knowing she was alive. If it turned out to be a façade, then there would be some serious hell to pay.

The physician and nurse finished removing the staples from my skull. A numbing agent had been applied to the area to block any potential pain I would've felt, making the side of my face feel like I had a stroke. After the staff left the room, I rolled my head over to Mom and asked, "Where's Dad and the others?"

"Your father should be joining us later today," she said. "He's having to handle some departmental business at the university. Bureaucratic bullshit, as usual."

"So much for being retired."

Mom smiled and stroked my head: "You act just like him. Both of you are as stubborn as rebar in cement."

I closed my eyes for a few moments. I had so many questions for Mom and wanted to verify it was her and not some elaborate ploy so bad, but I just couldn't think of anything…

"Mrs. Quest?"

A familiar voice interrupted my thoughts. I immediately opened my eyes.

Dr. Thomas Earley walked into the room with the aid of a walker cane. Wearing a dark suit and dark blue tie, he rested a large portion of his weight onto the silver walking assistant. While my strength was slowly returning, I didn't have the energy to leap out of bed and beat him with my lunch tray.

"I need to speak to Jonny for a few minutes," he said. "If that's alright."

Mom nodded, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and whispered in my ear, "I'm going to go downstairs and call Melissa. Her and Gwyn didn't sleep at all last night; they might be awake now."

She walked out of the room and shut the sliding glass door behind her. Dr. Earley drew the privacy curtain.

I demanded, "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were dead?"

"They got my in the shoulder and legs," Earley said as he approached the monitoring equipment next to me. "Unhook yourself, we're about to get you out of here."

"Where am I?"

"Nod compound. East of the Eden laboratory, or what's left of it. Now get disconnected, we don't have much time."

Earley grabbed a wheelchair from the far corner of the room as I disconnected the various intravenous connections and sensors. Under usual circumstances, I would've told the good doctor to go pound sand.

These weren't usual circumstances.

"Can I have a pair of pants?" I asked.

"We'll find your clothes downstairs. Judith has a locker with some new clothes for you."

"Judith… that woman who was in here, I don't know if that's Judith—I've never met her—but she's supposed to be my mother's twin. Do you know if that's her?"

Dr. Earley shook his head as he helped me out of the bed.

"I'm sorry, Jonny," he said. "I can't tell. I've never seen Rachel and Judith in the same room, so either Rachel is avoiding her sister or Judith is one goddamn good character actress. What did she tell you?"

"She said I was in the hospital and that all that had previously happened didn't; said I had been brained by a crowbar by a suspect I was chasing on foot."

"Hmm… it's a toss-up, I'm afraid. Judith would not want to alarm you and your mother would be following orders."

I looked up at him as Dr. Earley began to push me towards the door and asked, "Why would Judith want my mother alive or, at least, the impression that she is? Isn't Judith wanting me to believe that _she_ is my mother?"

"Could be a transitionary thing," he said as he pulled open the curtain and door. "Or, could just be leading you on so that you can be coaxed into doing whatever she wants you to do under the guise of motherly love. Your choice. Now be quiet and don't talk to anyone or make any sound. Just look straight ahead and make eye contact with nobody."

We made our way out into the nurses' station where two of the nurses stood up.

"Dr. Earley?" one asked.

"He's needed in DR," Earley said as he continued to push me. "If anyone comes asking, you know the drill."

I continued to stare ahead as instructed. Two large automatic doors swung open into the hallway, allowing us to exit the intensive care bay and its occupants. There were no windows in the corridor and no visible sign of branding for the hospital. Ahead, another set of double doors blocked off further access to the floor while an elevator alcove branched off to the immediate left.

"Keep your head down," Dr. Earley instructed. "They have armed security all over the place as well as cameras. We've already caused enough attention."

He pushed me to the elevator and hit the call button. A cold sweat began to form on the back of my neck. I could hear Earley mutter "Come on, come on" as the elevator car arrived at our floor. With a subtle chime, the metal doors opened.

"Hey Dr. Earley," a deep voice from inside the car said. "Going down?"

I noticed a pair of combat boots and dark blue camouflage pants next to the barrel of a M4A1. I closed my eyes and held my breath.

Dr. Earley said casually, "Hi, Darren; yes, we're going down. Lobby, please."

"Need some help loading this one?"

"No thanks, this one follows directions."

Darren laughed as the elevator descended. When it stopped and the doors opened, Dr. Earley pushed me out into an atrium lobby. Smooth, white tiled floor, walls, and fixtures gave off a pleasantly clean appearance. I was steered into another hallway lined with offices. Dr. Earley pushed me into a large executive room where a woman on the phone told the caller, "I'll call you back."

I heard her hang up and walk around the large L-shaped desk covered in folders and various documents.

"Thom, is it time?" she asked with excitement.

"It is," Dr. Earley replied. "Jonathan here has been cleared and he's ready to be suited and booted."

I couldn't see the woman's face, only her low-heel black shoes and stockings. I imagined she had the biggest shit-eating grin on her face as she rushed over to another part of her office that was out of my peripheral vision. I could hear a metal locker open and some rummaging sounds from within.

"Stand up, Jonny," Earley said.

I did as I was told. He untied the hospital gown and pulled it off me, leaving me standing in the woman's office in my underwear. I remained silent to give the impression that I was under verbal control. The woman—a large brunette in her late forties—returned with a three-piece black suit, undershirt included, and silver necktie.

"Go ahead and put these on," she said. "I'll get your socks and shoes."

I gave a small glance to Dr. Earley who gave me a slight motion to fulfill what was requested. Silently, I proceeded to put on the suit and tie. The office lady returned with a pair of polished black shoes and matching dress socks. After I was fully dressed, Dr. Earley turned me around.

"He is so handsome," the lady said. "Here, here's his gun."

She handed Dr. Earley a Colt Anaconda, a .44 magnum six-chamber revolver with wooden grips and six-inch barrel, who took it with a perplexed expression.

"Where's his forty-five?" he asked.

The lady was a little taken aback, saying, "Oh… Doctor Waterston wanted it. She said to give Jonny the one Reno left behind since Rude stole the original. Reno said he would get it back."

Dr. Earley shrugged and took the leather shoulder holster that went with it. He handed it to me and instructed me to put it on after loading it. I dropped six bullets into cylinder and placed a full speed loader into an inner jacket pocket.

"Anything else, Dr. Earley?" the woman asked.

He took his walker cane.

"Just one," he replied.

In a swift motion, Dr. Earley swung his cane as hard as he could, slamming into the woman's face with enough force that her head snapped back like a trash can lid. She fell backwards into the open storage cabinet as blood gushed from her broken nose and mouth. Dr. Earley walked over to her desk and grabbed a letter opener and keys to the cabinet doors. The battered woman was sliding down the back of the interior cabinet when he grabbed her by the collar and pulled her upright.

In a hoarse voice, she wheezed, "Please…"

Dr. Earley rammed the letter opener into her right eye, killing her instantly. He shoved the rest of her large carcass into the cabinet and shut the door, locking them with the keys he retrieved from her desk.

"I need to wash my hands real quick," Dr. Earley said. "There's a men's room down the hall. Follow me."

I stared at the gray cabinet in absolute shock. Earley noticed, saying, "Don't worry… she'll come out of the closet eventually."

I sighed and buttoned the front of my jacket shut.

We exited the office and went to the restroom.

I needed to throw up, anyway.


	91. Eighty-Nine

"Are you feeling better now?" Dr. Earley asked as he helped me walk down the hallway, away from the men's room.

I shook my head, saying, "Not really."

We slowly made our way out of the building and into the front courtyard. Various decorative trees with beautiful gray brickwork lined the ground while black polished steel benches provided seating for various office people coming and going. A cold, cloudy overcast greeted us with an accompanying breeze that smelled faintly of the ocean. I could see buildings of differing sizes ahead against a city skyline.

"Where the fuck are we?" I asked.

"The city of Nod," Dr. Earley said as he led me forward. "The area was originally an outpost in Canada named Alert. It's now the central North American operations center for NEO. Judith resides here in the city."

"Where?"

"That's not important right now."

I reached for my gun but was stopped by Earley.

"Not now, you idiot," he chastised. "We've got to get you out of here. Come on."

We made it to the parking lot in front of the courtyard. Dr. Earley helped me down from the curb and walked with me to a silver Mercedes-AMG GT luxury sports car. He opened the passenger door and provided support to me as I slid into the leather passenger seat. Dr. Earley climbed in the other side, taking his place in the driver seat. Starting the car, we pulled out of the large parking lot and exited via a heavily armed guard gate.

"I was told this area was quite desolate," I said. "In fact, it's supposed to be an arctic wasteland."

Earley turned south.

"It still is," he replied. "What you're experiencing is a geothermal heat-pump on a larger scale."

"What?"

"You know the TauTona Mine in Johannesburg?"

The TauTona Mine was the world's deepest gold mine with a depth of almost two-and-a-half miles below the earth's surface. Rock surface temperature at that level was a whopping 140 degrees Fahrenheit.

"Yeah," I said.

Dr. Earley took a hard left and said, "Five key geothermal pockets were discovered in this area. This allowed for a more complex area to be constructed as the average temperature for this area was constantly below zero. With hot air being tunneled out of the ground, the temperature is now more bearable with lows only getting into the low forties. The highest it'll ever get is sixty-eight, but that's fine for the constantly hot like me. A complex steam delivery system keeps all buildings, roads, and water delivery from freezing. Beyond the city limits, however, lies the real danger. We have a high-speed rail system that runs between here and Winnipeg but it takes about nine hours and only runs when necessary."

I looked around at all the different brick buildings and various businesses that I was accustomed to seeing—Panera Bread, Subway, a United States and Canadian post office—this area was its own secluded little city.

"What all is contained here?" I wondered.

Dr. Earley replied, "Hospital, training facilities, living quarters for staff, everything else needed for day-to-day operations that need to be carried out securely."

"Like experiments?"

"Like experiments."

We were slowing down and turning into another heavily guarded parking lot. Dr. Earley rolled down his window and swiped a keycard on a reader, prompting two layers of chain-link barbed-wired fence to roll aside. I could see two guards in the guard shack give us a small glance as we rolled over the first speed bump. The building was a five-story building with floor-to-ceiling windows and had a very modern, trendy design.

I looked at Dr. Earley and asked, "What is this place?"

"Somewhere even Judith wouldn't dare enter," he said as he pulled into a parking space. "Welcome to Mental Support Services. Consider this your new home while you figure out what your next move will be."

"Kill Judith and get my family back," I answered flatly.

"If only it was that simple, Jonny; you don't even know if the woman you call your mother is even her. For all you know, she could be a Manchurian disguised as your mom or goddamn Judith herself."

"But I _know_ she's my mother, Earley… I can _feel_ it…"

Dr. Earley turned the ignition off.

"Jonny, you've been doubting yourself ever since this whole mess cropped up and you wound up with a dead psychologist and a dead hooker. I don't know what Judith did to you while you were out, but I need to run some tests. Come on, I'll fill you in on what happened after your hotel incident."

I couldn't fight him because he was right.

I did feel different.

It didn't feel right.

It didn't feel right at all.

But I could be wrong… couldn't I?


	92. Ninety

According to Dr. Earley, my capture wasn't a quiet affair.

After slamming my head into a concierge desk, the Janitor proceeded to break Jade's arm and kicked Estella in the face so hard she slammed into the automatic sliding doors, effectively dislodging them from their track. Christine had grabbed Jessie and tried to run but ended up with a bullet to the back of her skull. Jessie managed to break free and get lost in the city. Reno, Steve, Phil, and Race, however, were rounded up.

"Where were they sent?" I asked.

Dr. Earley tossed a paper with an ominous brick building on the front onto the table in front of me.

"Chicago," he said as he fixed himself a drink at his private bar. "That's the black site."

Earley's office—a spaciously windowed glass-and-metal ensemble with a somber view of the Chancellery in the distance—was on the top floor of the Mental Support Services building, deep within the executive suite. The infantry that guarded the building was a step up from the run-of-the-mill foot soldiers of the compound: complete tactical helmets with opaque visors and masks, black camouflage uniforms, matching FN SCAR-H automatic rifles, and a bandolier containing extra ammunition and a few grenades of various types. Whatever was in this building, it was worth bringing the whole structure down and everyone with it to protect it.

I shifted in the leather seat.

I asked, "Mom—or, whoever—says it's the twelfth of July. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Dr. Earley said as he sat down across from me behind his desk. "I have tried to raise Hadji and Jessica but to no avail."

"Is it true that Dad is here, then?"

"Sadly, he's being held out there," he nodded before motioning towards Judith's enclave. "That's a no-go zone for now: all access has been restricted with orders to shoot on site unauthorized personnel. And before you ask, yes, there was an incident where that boundary was tested. To make sure the point stuck, they left the body in its place."

I rested my head on my hand and sighed.

"I guess it is good, then, that you kept me from knocking on the front door," I said. "So, what do I do? Try to figure out if Mom is really my mother or Judith? Or can I even begin to formulate a plan on how to break into the Chicago site?"

It was Dr. Earley's turn to sigh as he said, "That's going to be a bigger problem than what you think on both accounts, Jonny: the only train out of here is currently out. No telling on when it will return. Judith immediately dispatched it the second you landed."

"Landed? I thought you said the train was the only way out?"

"There is an airstrip, but it's under even more controlled use than the train. This site is protected by multiple surface-to-air missile sites. On top of that, the Royal Canadian Air Force keeps a strict patrol between here and the North Pole. If the SAMs don't get you, F-18s will. NORAD has the area monitored so tightly that you can't even fly a goddamn kite without getting a phone call. That being said, I guess it's a mixed blessing that the Janitor got to you first before you attempted an aerial entry."

"You don't think Judith would've made an exception?" I asked.

"Not her call," Earley explained. "There are strict—and I mean _strict_ —rules of protocol in this organization because of the secrets that we have here. If she were to try to interfere and compromise any of those, her carcass would be made into a snowman."

"What about your failed coup?"

Earley downed the rest of his drink.

"I was trying to take over the department that handles US operations," he said. "I was hoping I could contain it and shut it down before it gets any more out of hand."

"How so?" I asked.

"The United States is about to have itself torn apart through the exploitation of race, class warfare, and civil unrest on scales that haven't been seen in decades. It's the largest operation ever formulated to date."

"Why isn't anyone stopping her, then?"

"Jonny, you just don't _understand_ ," Dr. Earley said, slamming his palms down onto his desk. "The purpose of this organization is to cooperatively manage the planet in ways each vice-chancellor sees fit. Even though Judith is currently the head bitch in charge, she's still got dominion over the North American and South American continents. I don't know what's driving her to do this unless it's her way of getting back at everyone for locking her up in the nut house for the better part of her life and not even having the goddamn common courtesy of putting her out of her misery. _That's_ why I attempted to take over that department."

I sat in silence for a few moments.

"You guys have a real fucked up way of trying to get a promotion," I finally said. "So… what exactly did this 'coup' of yours entail?"

"It was going to be a staged suicide by its manager as she had been programmed by me personally prior to her installment as she was hand-picked by Judith. If disposed of, I could make the case for taking over operations. Unfortunately, someone got to her first and evacuated her out of the area. Last I heard, Elena had returned to Maine."

I leapt up out of my chair and leaned over the desk, asking, "What was her name?"

Earley gave me a grave look.

"Her name was Elena Morrow," he said cautiously. "Gray hair, brown eyes, you might've seen her around…"

I screamed the Lord's name in vain.

Dr. Earley immediately left his chair and came to my side.

"Jonny, what is it?!" he asked anxiously.

I fell back into my chair.

I whispered, "That… that fucking bitch… married Roger Bannon…"

Now it was Earley's time for shock: "Wait, _what_?!"

"I should've known…"

"Jonny… Jonny, listen to me, do you know where she is? Any idea at all?"

I shook my head, saying, "Before I left Maine, Reno said he had taken her somewhere safe. I don't know where that would entail. Does he know who she is?"

Dr. Earley walked back and forth, scratching his beard. After a few minutes in deep thought, he took a deep breath and exhaled.

"We need to run some tests first because I need to know what they did to you while you were out of commission," he said. "Reno knows that she is a member of the organization but is not aware of what she was responsible for. Knowing him, he would send her to the last place he would want to be just in case."

"Where?"

"Eden Laboratory."

"Reno said that place was reduced to ashes, though," I protested. "Unless it's been rebuilt?"

Earley shook his head, saying, "No, it's not been rebuilt; it's where it's always been. It's charred and there may be human remains courtesy of him down there, but it's still up, just sealed off."

I didn't like where this "down there" business was going.

"I imagine from the way you're talking it's underground," I said.

"It is. You're not going to like where."

I rolled my eyes slightly and asked, "Let me guess… the Chancellery?"

"Afraid so. But there's a back door in the hospital basement."

Dr. Earley took a swig of alcohol straight from his cabinet.

"Come on," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "Let's go run an MRI and come up with a plan. I'm not about to let you go in their balls out guns blazing."

I couldn't help but crack a small smile. I only wished Jessie were there for me to share it with.


	93. Ninety-One

I ate my supper quietly as Dr. Earley examined various x-rays and radiology scans of my cranium. Situated at a nearby conference table in his office, I kept a wary view of Judith's compound in the distance.

"Strange," Dr. Earley mused.

"What is it?" I asked.

"They seem to have removed that chip that was in your head. Look at this, this is an old x-ray of your head after your bout with meningitis…"

He passed the slides across the glass tabletop. I compared them side-by-side: a red circle indicated where there was once a tiny microchip the size of a grain of rice attached collectively to the parietal and frontal lobes of my brain. The parietal lobe, forming the top of the brain, was responsible for managing information received from the senses as well as spatial orientation, speech, visual perception, and pain and touch sensations. The frontal lobe, located at the front of the brain, was responsible for cognition and memory, providing the ability to concentrate, provide judgement, consequence analysis, problem solve, plan, and managed personality. The new slide showed that this had been removed with something new in its place.

I pointed and asked, "What the hell is this large blot?"

"If that is what I think it is, you're in a very perilous situation. Let me make a quick phone call."

"You really know how to make my day brighter, you know that, right?"

Dr. Earley didn't say anything as he got up from the table and went over to his desk. As he proceeded to use the phone, I tried to finish my meal. The cafeteria in the building wasn't all that bad; it was good, even, with a selection akin to your average Cracker Barrel restaurant. I ate what I could and pushed the plate away, downing the rest of my water. Dr. Earley returned and dropped a folder onto the table in front of me.

"This is going to tickle you pink," he said cynically. "That big blot is a new liquid organic silicon, courtesy of your friends at Intel's R-and-D lab in Israel. It touches every lobe of your brain except your brainstem. I'm afraid that they may be able to control every single aspect of you like an RC helicopter."

I looked at Dr. Earley with a baffled expression.

"Liquid silicon? As in, a liquid processor?!" I exclaimed.

Dr. Earley's phone started ringing.

"Yeah, something along those lines," he said as he began to walk back to his desk.

He picked up the receiver and answered with a tired, "Yeah?"

Dr. Earley's face became concerned; his eyes became focused and his mouth became taut. He lowered the receiver and handed it out towards me.

"It's for you," he said without emotion.

I knew he had been activated. Whoever was on the other line could possibly do the same to me. But I was not in my element; I was in a strange place surrounded by people ready to kill anything out of the ordinary at a moment's notice. I took out my gun and pulled back the hammer, jamming a chicken bone into the cavity between the firing pin and back of the bullet. I then slid the gun back into its holster and stood up. I couldn't risk leaving my gun out for Earley to use it on me but, by the same token, I couldn't risk shooting Earley, regardless if he deserved it. I slowly walked over and took the corded phone receiver from his hand.

Placing it to my ear, I greeted, "Hello?"

"Jonny?"

That voice… it was like Mom's but…

"… Judith?"

I could feel a smile on the other end.

"It's so nice to finally hear your voice in real-time," she said. "Rachel and Melissa said that you were taken to the DR labs. Did Dr. Earley take you there?"

Unimpressed, I replied, "Why don't you ask him? He answered the phone."

"I'm sorry, I know that was a stupid question, it's just a force of habit. Are you somewhere safe?"

"Put Mom on the phone."

"I can't right now, Sweetie; she's having dinner with Melissa and Gwyn. Why didn't you want to eat with them?"

My anger was rising. I gripped the phone hard.

"I want to know everything, Judith," I said firmly through clenched teeth. "I also want to know why the _FUCK_ I have this liquid computer plugged in my brain?"

Judith responded softly, "Jonny, please calm down… you can come up here and we can talk about it."

" _WHERE IS MY FATHER?!"_

"He's right here with me; would you like to talk to him?"

I stopped. I knew Dad wouldn't be able to tell me anything with Judith breathing down his neck. I looked over at Dr. Earley: he was fighting to regain control. He hunched over his desk and scribbled out something on a sticky note.

Judith asked, "Jonny?"

I watched as Dr. Earley wrote out in a very sloppy script the word "ALCOHOL."

Alcohol inhibited brain function by blocking transmitters; thus, it could possibly kick open the door in his mind and allow him to at least gain some self-control. I hung up the phone and began ripping open his desk drawers. Even though his private bar wasn't far away, I figured he would at least keep a secret stash nearby just in case. In the bottom drawer, I hit pay dirt.

I yanked out a half-empty bottle of Golden Grain Alcohol, better known as Everclear in the United States. This was the liquid one would drink by itself if they really wanted to get themselves fucked up. I twisted the cap off and helped Dr. Earley ingest a few mouthfuls. Tears began to run from his eyes as he fell back into his chair, coughing.

I went and grabbed some bottled water from the bar. Dr. Earley cracked it open quickly and took a few large gulps. The phone began ringing again to which I simply threw it off the desk.

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded before resting his head on his desk.

"Yeah... I'll live," he coughed. "Sorry about that…"

"Don't be; in fact, I would've never guessed that booze would be one of the keys to beating this thing."

"It's a last resort. What'd Judith want?"

"She wants me to come up for a visit," I explained. "I told her to go fuck herself six ways from Sunday."

Dr. Earley chuckled, saying, "And you think that'll keep her content? She's the one with all the cards, Jonny. That being said…"

He pushed himself up from his chair and stumbled back over to the conference table. He opened the folder and removed a few printouts.

"This is the protocol for how to get to the Eden lab. You're going to have to go through Deep Recognizance's most top secret lab. Though, because you're one of the one-hundred series, I should be able to get you in there with no problem, at least to the entrance."

"Why can't you go any further?" I asked.

"I'm going to be in my bunker here," he said. "We'll be linked by a radio communication using a custom encryption algorithm designed by three mathematicians who committed suicide after they put it through the ultimate stress test to ensure that nobody could learn its secret. You'll be wearing a camera feed that will link back to me."

"And how is Judith not going to notice me waltzing in there?"

Dr. Earley smiled casually and said, "Because you're going to be admitted back to the ICU again under suicide watch for attempting to hang yourself."

Peachy.


	94. Ninety-Two

"There was a problem in DR so I had to bring him here to MSS," Dr. Earley explained to the charge nurse.

I stayed in a private patient room in Dr. Earley's building to gain my strength. I slept for a good ten hours and spent the rest of the day trying to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to endure. When I was ready, Dr. Earley fitted me with the small camera that would be clipped over my ear; I had seen models like it used in other police and sheriff's departments on uniformed officers for monitoring their day-to-day duties while on patrol. An earpiece on my other ear provided an audio link to Dr. Earley. Both were tucked into the inner pockets of my suit jacket to conceal them.

I was lying on a collapsible stretcher, strapped down with restraints. At least, that was the illusion that would be given to those who didn't look underneath: the nuts that held the leather straps in place were barely hanging on. Dr. Earley left it up to me how to make my way to the Deep Recognizance laboratories, only that I get there. I decided sneaking out of the ICU would be my best bet. How I was going to accomplish that would be another matter, but I decided to cross that bridge when I got there.

"128 needs to be under suicide watch until I can meet with the lab supervisor," he continued. "He is to have no visitors, no medications that isn't directed from me, and no notifications to upper management. The last thing I want is Judith bringing the board back down on me."

"Yes, doctor," the nurse acknowledged. "Is he ready to go?"

"Yes. Here's his vitals from the last fifteen minutes. He's been sedated so he should be pretty quiet."

I heard the shuffling of papers and then footsteps: I began moving. I kept my eyes shut and tried to stay relaxed to give the impression I was in a nice resting state. I ignored the discourse between the nurse and her subordinates charged with escorting me and tried to focus on what I would find there in the lab. I barely opened one eye and saw a nondescript van with the back doors open. Moments later, I was being loaded into it. Once everybody was loaded, the vehicle started and we slowly made our way to the hospital.

Radio chatter alerted me to the fact that the van was equipped with a radio. The driver, a male, keyed the mic and contacted the hospital in response to a message that was broadcast. I started to listen in.

"…yeah, we've got a DR en route for an S-W in the ICU," the driver said.

The dispatcher, a female, came over the air: "Keep him in the atrium, we've got a situation in DR."

"Oh for fuck's sake… now what?"

"DR-120 escaped. Elevators have been restricted. All entrances and exits are being monitored."

That number sounded familiar…

 _Wade… my God in Heaven…_

"Roger that," the driver said. "Be there in five."

As expected, my best laid plans were now down the toilet. I let out a small sigh and impatiently waited to be wheeled back into the hospital. Minutes seemed like hours until finally the van parked. The back doors swung open and the stretcher pulled out with me still strapped in. The casters loudly rolled across the asphalt as I was rolled through a parking garage adjacent to the hospital. The night air was viciously cold and pierced my skin like getting hit in face with a rose bush. I heard automatic doors being unlocked and be pushed open.

"Is this DR-128?" another male voice asked.

"Yeah," the charge nurse replied. "Dispatch said to keep him in the atrium. Apparently, the new mechanism isn't bonding well with him."

"I can authorize one elevator to take him up there. Think you can handle him by yourself?"

"I'll be okay. These two need to get back on duty."

I was moving again. I could hear people nervously talking—some were even crying out of fear—while building security coordinated with each other on the appropriate action to take below. I heard the swipe of a keycard and the sound of elevator doors opening.

The guard instructed the nurse, "Stay in the ICU. I'll radio security and let them know to open the door up there."

"Thanks," she told him before he walked off.

I was pushed into the elevator. I opened my eyes the moment the doors closed. The nurse had her back to me as she made her way around the stretcher to get to the floor selection panel. As quickly as I could, I yanked both wrists outward away from my body. The force was enough to drop the nuts on the bolts securing the straps to the stretcher. I immediately reached into my shoulder holster and removed my gun, aiming at the nurse's head. She had pressed herself against the corner, an expression of absolute fear wiped across her narrow face. I could see sweat building in her curly brown hair.

"Do as I say and I won't kill you," I said. "Take these straps off me."

The nurse started crying, begging me not to kill her.

"Take these straps off me, please; work with me here and you'll get through this alive. I'm here to take care of the situation in the DR lab."

Quivering nervously, she fumbled with the straps on my ankles and my waist. I slid off the stretcher and ordered her to lie face down on it. She begged me again not to kill her.

"What's your name?" I asked gently.

Fumbling over her words, the nurse answered, "M-my name is Adrienne."

"Adrienne, I want you to lie face down on the stretcher," I said. "I want to secure you to it with some plastic zip-ties. I'm then going to send you back to the lobby. Okay?"

Adrienne nodded fervently. Slowly, she climbed onto the padded orange-colored stretcher face down. I secured her wrists and ankles to the metal supports that held it up. Once she was subdued physically, I made my way over to the button panel. Next to the button for the DR lab was a slot for a keycard. I removed the card Dr. Earley gave me and inserted it before pressing the button.

The elevator began to descend.

I put on my camera and earpiece.

It was show time.


	95. Ninety-Three

I slowly stepped out of the elevator car and onto the dark rough floor. I made sure the elevator doors closed before continuing further. As a security measure, I destroyed the card reader in hopes that it would at least hinder anyone who wanted to come down and ruin my already shitty day. Caged decorative fluorescent lights hung in a row down the center of the hallway; various office doors lined each side with the owner's name on the outside.

"Can you hear me?" I asked.

"Yes," Dr. Earley responded through the earpiece. "I must say, this is an unexpected turn of events."

"I've learned since this shit show started that we're going to be playing this by ear every step of the way. Where am I?"

"You're in the administration area. Keep moving ahead; there'll be an intersection there."

I took out my gun and cautiously walked forward. The walls were painted in a simple pale white with various posters about lab safety and hanging portraits of notable people. I listened for sounds of movement as I worked my way around office furniture and boxes that had been strewn about the hallway. I peered into offices whose doors looked like they had been used for target practice. Once regular work areas looked like warzones; shattered glass, debris, overturned bookshelves and desks, it caused a cold chill to slowly creep up my spine.

I turned my focus back to the hallway.

It was gone.

In its place was my bedroom from when I was eight years old.

"Earley, what's going on?" I asked.

Silence.

"Whoever this is," I said loudly. "I know you put something in my head. If this is your idea of trying to control me, then you've got another thing coming. Now knock it off!"

I started crying.

I could hear myself scream "WHY?!" as my father informed me that my mother wasn't going to be walking through the door anymore, that she wasn't going to be reading me bedtime stories, or make me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or put Neosporin—which I had convinced myself was sulfuric acid in a tube—on my injuries. I fell to my knees and beat the carpeted floor that had appeared below me; I was no longer in the labs, I was in my house.

"This is Race, Son," Dad said to me. "He'll be living with us from now on to protect us."

"I don't care," I said through the tears. "I want my mommy…"

"I know you do, Son, but…"

I shouted at him, "BUT WHAT?!"

I was back in the hallway. I rubbed my face hard.

"Jonny?! Jonny, can you hear me?!" Dr. Earley shouted.

"Yeah, I... I don't know what happened," I sighed. "Something about this place… it's affecting my vision and what I hear."

"I can hear a number sequence being picked up by the camera's audio; they must have a numbers station playing to try and subdue Wade. It wouldn't be farfetched that it would affect you, too. Keep going, maybe we can find the source and turn it off."

"Roger that."

I picked myself up off the floor and continued to walk down the hall, using the wall as a support. The intersection came sooner than expected. Straight ahead was an airlock chamber leading to a laboratory. To my right and left were hallways leading deeper into other sections of the underground complex. I looked up at the directory hanging on the wall: to the right was security, administrators' offices, and dormitories; to the left was subject dormitories and observation, nurse's station, and shipping and receiving.

"Shipping and receiving?" I asked.

"The underground rail goes by here whenever it's on a supply route or needs to load up on special cargo," Dr. Earley explained. "Head towards the security office: we'll need to get something to open the lab doors."

"Any idea where everyone is?"

"The ones that are left are probably holed up in the lab. Others either escaped via the elevator or made their way out through the loading dock. Be careful, Jonny: when something goes DEFCON 1 around here, they dispatch the hazmat crew. You know, the nice ladies who brought you in to begin with."

"I thought their area of concern was external cleanup?"

"It is. However, they are large enough to break into squads. One squad is always on rotation for guard duty."

I let out an exhausted sigh and began to veer off down the right hallway. I could hear footsteps coming from another bend further down. I immediately ducked into the closest room and hid behind the black metal door. The footsteps were getting louder as were the voices accompanying them.

"…I don't know how that shit-skinned fucker got in," a female voice bemoaned. "He probably ducked in through the dock. The train wasn't scheduled to come in for another four days."

A male voice responded: "Where is he now?"

"I don't know; Dudek won't let us into the lab to check there—said only Hazmat can go in there."

A frantic voice came across the radio mentioning a nurse and an unknown operative in the vicinity. A cold sweat broke out across my brow as the female asked for details. The dispatcher gave an accurate description of me, even pointing out that I was a potential DR product.

"You sure it's not a Janitor?" the female radioed back.

"Positive," dispatch replied. "It's possible it could be Quest. Do not, I repeat, do _not_ engage. Hazmat has been dispatched. Return to elevator for evac."

"Roger that," the female acknowledged. "Well, now what? He probably could be in the lab already and taking care of the dirty work for us."

"I hope so," the male said with an implied stretch. "Come on, let's get the fuck out of here; it's Hazmat's baby now."

The two walked off and rounded the corner at the intersection heading back to the elevators. I waited until they were out of hearing distance before I slipped out.

"You don't have much time, Jonny," Dr. Earley said.

I mumbled under my breath, "No shit, Sherlock."

I ran down the hallway as quietly as I could towards the security room. I finally found the hub in a large open area with multiple branching hallways. There was a lot of blood in this area and signs of drag marks. I slowly approached the door to the octagonal room with my gun ready and pushed it open.

With what little strength she had left, Nikki reached for the emergency override switch for the laboratory airlock. Her bloody hand grasped it firmly and pulled as she collapsed into the floor. I ran to her and fell to my knees. Her blonde hair, now showing the black roots of its natural color, was soaked in crimson. I put my hand behind her head and propped her up to speak.

"I… just wanted my mommy…" she whispered as she looked up at me.

She was wearing one of my black shirts and jeans underneath the tattered remains of a Kevlar vest. Unfortunately, the bullets used by the security team of Hotel California were a higher caliber than what the vest was rated for and tore through it like wet tissue paper, riddling her frail body with hot piercing lead.

Astonished, I asked, "Nikki, what… how…?"

"He brought… he brought me… they brought her here… I wanted to meet her… name is Jade…"

Her eyes rolled back in her head.

Nikki shuddered with her last breath, "I want my Mommy…"

Everything started to disappear again. Earley's voice faded out along with Nikki's corpse and the room around me. I fell back onto my back as extreme dizziness took hold. I screamed through the pain.

"Here we are again," Jessie said as she knelt beside me. "But you're not asleep, yet it's time to wake up."

"Wake up, Jonny," Hadji said.

Estella chimed in, "Yeah, wake up.

"Wake up, Son," Dad said.

I grabbed my head and curled into the fetal position.

I reached for my gun.

There was only one way to stop this.


	96. Ninety-Four

Wade was screaming my name as he shook me violently. He managed to wrestle the gun out of my hand. The security room was dimly lit to reduce glare on the banks of LCD screens against the wall where Jade's daughter met her fate; however, what little light present was enough to cause searing pain in my eyes. I was lifted by my arms and placed into one of the swivel chairs.

"Goddammit," Wade cursed while he tried to keep me from slipping back down into the floor. "Come on, Jon, snap out of it."

I let out a low growl as my mind swirled. I could see Jessie sobbing nearby.

"Why did you do it, Jonny?" she keened. "How could you do that to me?"

I slurred, "I don't understand?"

Wade turned around and looked back at me.

"Nobody's there, Jonny," he said. "Come on, come back to me."

I whispered, "My secret… no one must never know…"

"JONNY!" Wade screamed as loud as he could into my face.

I snapped my head back and gripped the arm rests of the chair. My head still ached severely, but lucidity was returning. I looked up at Wade, his face containing bright red scars from the explosion he took head-on. His eyebrows had managed to regrow but his head remained bald, either from shaving for treatment or injury. He was wearing one of the uniforms that the team that retrieved me from the hotel donned.

"Isn't that made for girls?" I breathed.

He looked down at his clothes and then back at me, saying, "This is on loan from one of the only male members; Hadji kind of made it to where he wouldn't be needing it anymore."

I perked up.

"Hadji?" I asked. "I heard them talking about someone being 'shit-skinned', I should've known it was him… what happened here? What're you all doing here? What was Nikki doing?"

"Jade is being kept down here as well. Nikki… broke away from us. I told Hadji to keep working and tried to track her down. Unfortunately, we've got company down here."

"What the fuck is going on? Why's Hadji here? Where's Jade?"

"Hadji says him and his girlfriend managed to get away when they came for your father," Wade explained. "He said some lady named Aimee helped secure transit on the train up here. I don't guess you've heard the news about the department?"

I sighed, saying, "I was told that it was reduced to rubble by an inconvenient plane crash."

"Afraid so; the media covered it for one evening and that was it. The FAA is going to go dick around to make sure that every last piece of evidence is removed from the site and then it's going to be paved over, chalked up to mechanical failure. Our coworkers, at least the ones involved in this project, have been vanquished from this physical realm."

I looked down at the floor.

"… Damn."

"I know," he agreed. "Listen, Jonny, we don't have time right now for this. Pull yourself together and grab some more ammo and vest off the rack. Hadji is trying to open the seal to Eden: that's where Jade's being held. God knows what they intend to do with her."

Dr. Earley came across my earpiece: "Jonny, ask Wade to put on a radio. I'll tell you what frequency to tune to once he has one."

I told Wade what was relayed to me. Wade yanked open one of the desk drawers and removed a handheld tactical radio. Wade radioed Dr. Earley once the frequency was tuned: "It's about goddamn time I managed to get in touch with you."

"I know; I'm sorry," Dr. Earley responded. "Grab one more for Hadji—he'll never be able to open Eden without my help. Jonny, once you get loaded up, make your way into the laboratory. Wade, head back to Hadji and give him a radio. Rendezvous with Jonny at Eden's entrance. Kill anyone who stands in your way."

I silently slipped on the heavy Kevlar vest and grabbed two boxes of bullets for my revolver. I reached down and closed Nikki's eyelids. The numbness I felt made me feel inhuman. This wasn't the movies and it definitely wasn't some cheap thriller novel from Barnes and Noble. I was no hero and my first encounter with Nikki involved her trying to wreck my already shitty day. I could only feel pity that a life constructed from the ground up to be nothing more than an armed executive assistant was cut short based on the primal need to find one's mother. I could at least relate with her on that front.

"Come on, Jonny," Wade said, somewhat frantically. "There's a side entrance to the laboratory you can take that's on my way to Hadji. That will hopefully buy you some time from Hazmat."

I stood up and pulled out my gun.

"If it's a reunion Judith wants," I said softly. "Then let's give her the goddamn best she's ever had."


	97. Ninety-Five

"Earley, what the fuck happened to me?" I whispered as I stepped up to the airlock, a small enclosed entryway the size of a large broom closet that served as a security buffer between the lab and outside world.

"Sounds like your temporal lobe is doing some rewiring," he said. "I don't know how often you'll experience it or what exactly triggers it. For all we know, it could be something audible that we're not able to hear or pick up on this microphone."

Wade's voice came over the radio next: "How you doing, Jon?"

"Nauseous, hungry… how long have you been here?"

"If I recall correctly, it was after your father gave Lori a bunch of money to help transport her and Aria out of the area. That was my request in case anything happened to me. I'm still in a lot of pain and have some major scarring on my torso, but I knew you would need some help."

"Where've you been staying?" I asked.

"Hospital dormitory," Wade said. "I have an insurance policy that would truly ruin her best laid plans should I die."

"Your own dead man's switch?"

"Something along those lines."

I slowly crossed through the airlock and into the laboratory corridor. The floor was a highly polished white tile with matching walls. Various offices and smaller laboratories branched off the hallway. All personnel had been evacuated, leaving behind overturned stools and random paperwork scattered across desks and tables.

"Keep going," Earley said softly. "You're doing just fine. Eden is a bit of a trek; you'll have to descend some stairs. Hopefully Judith's goons take another entrance."

The lights immediately went out. No emergency fixtures illuminated.

"Or, maybe not," he whispered. "Hide. Now."

I was standing in a semi-open area with a large round table and a few chairs. I hit the ground and crawled underneath.

"Jonny," Wade said breathlessly over the radio. "If you can hear me, the Hazmat team is probably about to breach the lab. I don't know if that was Hadji who turned off the lights. I'm almost to him, so find somewhere to chill and hang tight."

I remained silent and listened.

The sound of gunfire erupted from outside the lab, echoing throughout the underground.

Wade screamed, "JONNY, RUN!"

I pushed the table off me and stood up, turning into the direction I was originally facing before the lights went out. I ran as hard as I could muster, my muscles quickly tiring from disuse in my recovery. With my hands running along the wall beside me, I felt frantically for anything that could give off light. Radio chatter from Wade was frantic with plenty of swearing and background gunshots.

Dr. Earley came on the air, asking, "Wade, where are you?!"

"I'm almost to the control room; I think I killed one of them. Two of them are after me."

"Damn… let us know when you get there."

I kept pressing forward. After a few moments of radio silence, Wade notified us he had arrived at Hadji's location. Hadji himself was next on the air, having been handed a radio by Wade, and exclaimed his joy for my perpetual ability to stay alive.

"I agree, old friend," I replied. "I need some light to get down to Eden's front door."

He radioed back: "Would the emergency lights suffice? I'm sure they have night vision equipment, but this would at least not make it a walk in the park for them."

"Do it!"

Seconds later, the emergency lights flicked back on.

"Take a left at the next intersection, Jonny," Dr. Earley said. "You'll come to a stairwell at the end of the hallway. Take it all the way to the bottom; there's about three flights."

"Is that the only stairwell?" I asked.

"There's a decommissioned elevator on that floor that is inaccessible from the laboratory; it goes to the train loading dock. You can use that to escape. Wade, Hadji, what is your situation?"

"We're pinned down here in the master control room," Wade answered. "Jonny, don't worry about us! We'll figure a way out of here! Just get to Eden!"

I followed Earley's navigational instructions.

I had read Elena's complete file before trying to get some sleep the night previous. A lot of biographical information had been redacted—parents, original place of birth, siblings—yet one field of interest stood out to me: children. The box indicated that she had one child; the sex field was marked out completely. There was some extra writing on it in the notes portion with an arrow pointing back to the number of children entry that was also marked out. I thought about the situation with Melissa and the off-chance that she was my sister, considering deeply the aspect of my father having an affair with his insane sister-in-law. If Judith was interned inside a mental health institution… it just didn't add up.

The biggest question I had was how was it so easy for her to get close to Race. Granted, he had tried dating but immediately ran into a five-foot-seven-inch red-headed brick wall known as Jessica Margaret Leya Bannon, who, by all accounts, was none-too-pleased about having to share her father with those who weren't her mother. Elena was no exception. It was no accident that she was there at our graduation, but was the only child listed a part of the graduating class? I knew plenty of people with the surname Morrow in the county but their parents were accounted for.

Dr. Earley said this operation had been in the making for a long time. I shuddered the thought of Race being able to fall prey to subliminal suggestion.

I was determined to get answers out of Elena and protect Jade at all costs.

I slowed down as I approached a large set of reinforced glass automatic doors. Across the middle of each was the words "DEEP RECOGZIZANCE" and, immediately below that, a large plethora of warning signs, ranging from radio frequency hazards to controlled access notices.

"I'm at the front of the DR lab," I said to Hadji.

"Copy that, Brother," he responded.

The doors slid open and I made entry. The laboratory, as explained by Doctor Earley via radio, was split into four major quadrants: electronics, medical, observation, and administration. I was standing in the lobby of administration: a large, circular atrium adorned the center of the ceiling with the best imitation sunlight that money could buy while a rounded reception desk stood ahead. The aesthetics of the lab was much different that the anterior with brushed nickel accents and gray textured wallpaper. The entrance to the other quadrants was a set of heavy security doors with a biometric reader used to control access stationed nearby.

I slowly approached it and looked behind me one last time to ensure there wouldn't be any surprises coming up the rear.

The biometric reader required a handprint and retina scan. I placed my hand on the glass surface and gazed into the scanner. The red indicator light around the camera turned green with a pleasant chime and the doors began to open. As I shifted to walk deeper into the lab, a pair of hands grabbed my collar and pulled me in, throwing me against a workbench. I leapt off the floor to keep from having my lower back taken out and went over the table, taking numerous oscilloscopes and components with me to the floor below.

"It's about time you got here," a familiar voice said.

I rolled over onto my back and looked up into the cold green eyes of the blonde leader of the Hazmat team.

I whispered, "Oh, no…"


	98. Ninety-Six

I was lifted to my feet and then shoved into a nearby wall.

"Who the fuck are you, lady?" I asked, out of breath.

"Aidan," the black uniform clad operative said coolly. She pressed her forearm against my neck and applied pressure, cutting off my air.

"Now," she continued. "Are you going to come with me or am I going to have to send you back to the hospital?"

I placed both of my feet against the wall and pushed forward violently into her, knocking us both to the floor. I reared back and punched her in the face.

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on," I spat.

I went for my gun but Aidan was quicker. Grabbing my wrist and pushing my hand backwards sent searing pain through my entire arm. I dropped my revolver as a fist made hard contact with my jaw. I fell back into the workbench cabinets but immediately started to frantically crawl underneath the leg space to the other side where another bench was. Aidan grabbed at my heels only to be kicked in the face. I grabbed the countertop of the adjacent bench and pulled myself back up to my feet.

"WADE! I'M IN TROUBLE!" I screamed into the microphone as I made a run for it.

I could hear Aidan's boots on each impact with the floor. Dr. Earley continued shouting directions in my ear, desperately trying to guide me to the Eden laboratory. I pulled chairs, equipment, and other objects behind me to try and trip up my pursuer. I turned a corner and ran down a long corridor lined with large glass hospital rooms.

"You're in observation now, Jonny," Dr. Earley said. "Take the next right at the upcoming intersection, then bear left at the next one. At the end of that hallway will be the door to Eden."

I did as I was instructed, nearly slipping and falling on the waxed floor. My head was starting to spin. I could hear Aidan catching up to me. As I rounded the corner at the first intersection, I heard a heavy metal door nearly get taken off its hinges. I slid to a stop, turning to see Wade effectively tackling Aidan head-on with a shoulder thrust to her abdomen. Aidan was lifted off her feet and crashed into the floor as Wade somersaulted back into a standing position, handgun draw. Aidan rolled backwards and, with a fast-handed motion, threw a throwing knife almost effortlessly at Wade. The blade ricocheted off his gun, causing him to drop it out of impulse.

I ran forward and slammed the palm of my fist into Aidan's nose. I could feel the warm flow of blood spray from her nostrils as I broke her cartilage. She hit me in the face with her elbow as she grabbed her nose; I spun slowly halfway and fell to the floor. Wade ran up behind the woman and wrap his arms around her torso in the form of a tight bearhug. With a heavy hoist, he lifted Aidan off her feet and over his shoulder, sending her to the floor face first. She screamed in pain as her head bounced off the waxed tile. Wade grabbed his gun off the floor, ran to me and dragged me to my feet; we broke into a haphazard run towards Eden.

Ahead, on a nondescript wall, was a lone reinforced steel door. Three large metal signs hung next to it, noting only authorized personnel pursuant to specific policies, alerting the fact that there were unstable patients in the area beyond that point, and that deadly force was authorized. Next to it was a biometric scanner like at the entrance of the lab. Wade motioned for me to "work my magic"—his words—to unlock it. After a quick scan, the heavy door's internal barricades retracted, allowing us a quick entry.

It wasn't quick enough to get away from Aidan, however.

I felt a heavy boot kick me in the back of the head, sending me forward down the start of a metallic flight of stairs. I could hear Wade struggling with her as I bounced, banged, and rolled until I crash landed into the first landing. As I slowly pulled myself up, pain gripping my body like a tight vice, I felt Wade fall into me. Together, we slammed into the concrete wall and back down onto the metal grid walkway. Aidan quickly jumped down the stairs and pulled Wade off me, shoving him down the next flight. She picked me up and threw me against the all again.

Blood was smeared across her mouth and her hair was a complete sweaty mess. She gripped my neck hard, her eyes nothing but pure hatred and rage.

"Why do you have to be so _GODDAMN DIFFICULT?!_ " she screamed in my face.

I gasped for breath. I wasn't proud of what I was about to do next, but I needed to breathe.

Aidan had given me just enough leeway to slide down quickly to where I could get eye-level with her waist. In one swift motion, I punched her in the vagina hard enough that I could almost feel her pelvic pone. Aidan stumbled back, screaming in absolute pain. I quickly stood back up and tried to punch her in the throat. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough; she caught my wrist and pulled me over the guardrail. The guardrail for the last flight broke my fall, as well as a few of my ribs, and allowed me to slowly fall another five feet to the ground below it. I rolled around on the ground, moaning in pain. Wade was on his knees beside me, telling me that we had to keep moving. I could hear Aidan stumbling down the stairs to the best of her ability.

Wade helped lift me to my feet and offered support as we tried to make our way forward. A narrow hallway with large windows on each side revealed small offices where guards would normally be stationed. Dr. Earley and Hadji coordinated together over the radio, desperately trying to open the glass automatic doors in front of us. Wade slowly lowered me down to the floor, propping me up against the doors.

Aidan walked off the last step.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Wade asked.

Aidan smiled coyly.

"It's not me you have to worry about," she said.

"Oh? What's that supposed to mean…?"

I could see Aidan's mouth moving but I heard no sound; not from her, Wade, anything. I took my feet and kicked Wade in the back of his legs. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. I could still see his lips moving but still hear nothing. I reached into his holster and removed his gun. I pulled the hammer back and put it to the back of his head. He looked up at Aidan; I could feel his body vibrating which indicated he was saying something, something quite loud. My mind was in a haze—what was happening? What I felt I was doing felt… right.

I think.

Aidan looked at me.

I looked down at Wade.

I could see Wade sigh and close his eyes.


	99. Ninety-Seven

A muffled voice from behind the glass door behind me caused me to jerk my hand backwards. Wade took the opportunity to instantaneously grab my wrist and point the gun I held at Aidan's head. As a reflex, I pulled the trigger, firing a single shot. The bullet hit Aidan in the left eye and lodged itself in a thick part of her skull. She fell backwards as blood covered her face. Wade leapt to his feet and pushed me back hard into the door with enough force that caused me to release my grip on the gun. He stepped forward and unloaded the other five shots into Aidan's head and neck, causing her facial structure to collapse. Wade threw the gun onto her lifeless body sprawled against the stairs and returned to me.

"Jonny," he said frantically as he lifted me back to my feet. "Jonny, can you hear me?"

My hearing slowly came back and my mind regained lucidity.

"… the fuck was that?" I asked.

Wade ignored my question and turned me around. Jade was banging on the glass door to the lab, screaming my name. She was beaten and bruised; her clothes, the same that she had worn in the hotel, were torn and blood stained.

"Hadji, can you and Earley get the door open?" Wade asked via radio. "We need to get Jonny out of here—his programming is active."

"Did you cut intercoms to the lab?" Earley radioed back.

Hadji answered, "We did the best we could but they'll be able to reactivate them."

"Goddammit! They can get him to kill all of us… okay, hang on…"

Wade motioned Jade to step back from the door. After it slid open, Wade helped me inside. Jade threw her arms around my neck and squeezed tight. I put a free arm around her and tried to find something to lean on. Wade helped me over to a nearby desk.

I lamented, "I get the feeling that I'm a liability now…"

"Don't say that, Jonny," Jade countered, kissing my forehead. "We need to help Julia."

"Julia? Is she down here?"

She nodded.

I turned to Wade, saying, "Take Jade and Hadji and get out of here."

"What?!" Wade protested. "You're out of your fucking mind, Quest; I can't just leave you here to try and save that woman!"

"It's not about that. I'm going to end this madness right here, right now. But I can't do that if I pose a danger to you all."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Hadji said hurriedly over the radio. "But I have company and would appreciate some assistance along the lines of _now_."

"You've got to be fucking… did Judith plan for this?" Wade asked rhetorically.

"She was probably banking on it, just as she's banking on me going in there alone."

Jade looked at me and asked, "So what's your plan?"

"…I don't really have one. But that's irrelevant; you two get up there and help Hadji."

"Jonny!" Earley shouted over the earpiece. "What are you doing?!"

I removed the camera and radio and handed them to Judith.

"Put these on," I said. "They connect to Dr. Earley. The others, they're in Chicago, right?"

Jade nodded.

"I'm going to go get them."

"How? There's no trains in here right now," Wade objected. "Unless… Hadji, do you have a video feed of the rail switchyard?"

"Hang on," Hadji answered. "It's empty except for one locomotive with one passenger-looking car in the back."

"That's the VIP and emergency evacuation train; it's completely autonomous, just pick a preprogrammed location and go. It'll take you as far as Thunder Bay in Ontario, which is about three days on this train. Its top speed is seventy miles an hour but has been engineered to be extremely fuel efficient and is kept gassed up, so you shouldn't have any stops. There should be an exit to it in the lab."

Hadji was becoming a little impatient, saying, "I don't mean to be a pain in the ass…"

"You better get going," I said. "Don't worry about me. Just worry about staying alive."

Jade tried to interrupt, "Jonny…"

"No. Go with Wade. Get out of this place and try to hold out the best you can. I'm going to put a stop to this shit once and for all."

"You need a gun, though."

"Too dangerous. Now go!"

Wade sighed and took Jade's hand. She kept looking back at me as he dragged her out of the lab. I walked over to the electronic control next to the door.

"Pray for me, guys," I whispered as I pressed the emergency button.

Sirens began to sound and strobe lights began to flash as the glass door immediately slid closed and multiple reinforced steel gates lowered from the ceiling. I took a fire extinguisher out of its housing on the wall and smashed the control unit until it was nothing but a pile of smoking printed circuit boards and plastic.

I turned and faced the lab.

From the looks of it, I was in the rear entrance of Eden. Numerous unmarked barrels and drums lined the wall along with dusty medical equipment and various tools. Prosthetics, centrifuges, and gas canisters made it seem like I had wondered into a hospital garage sale. A single line of utility fluorescent lights provided a lonely descent deeper into the dark concrete confines of the nightmare that had created Reno.

I silently walked by forgotten examination wings, specimen rooms, and at least one morgue. Ahead was an entryway to a large operating theatre. Somebody was strapped to the center table, the overhead light focused on them. I walked forward cautiously.

"W-who's there?" Julia cried.

I ran to her side immediately.

She shrieked at the sight of me, "Jonny…?!"

"Yeah, some knight in shining armor, I know," I said softly. "What in the…"

Julia had been attached to the table with tight bandoliers of C4 plastic explosives.

"She's watching us…" she whispered.

"Hi, Jonny," Elena's voice echoed from behind. "I wouldn't be fucking with those, especially since you don't have your little redhead cock-hopper."

I slowly lowered my hands to my side and turned around to meet Elena's scowling gaze. She was wearing a set of black fatigues; in one hand was the remote detonator for the explosives and a Marine KA-BAR knife in the other. I recognized the knife's true owner immediately.

"What the hell did you do to Jessie?!" I shouted.

Elena took a defensive stance, tossing the detonator aside.

"Nothing as bad for what I'm going to do to you. Let's see if they train you pigs well enough to go up against a real warrior."

I took a quick glance at Julia.

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

Julia was crying softly.

"Don't be," she whispered back. "I'm ready to die…"

But I wasn't.


	100. Ninety-Eight

Elena and I circled each other in the operating room. An observation balcony circled the room perimeter above us; I imagined that NEO's top brass enjoyed getting a first-hand look at the Hippocratic oath being tossed out the window for ungodly experiments on human test subjects. The cold steel of leftover scalpels, sutures, bone saws, and clamps reflected dust and stained blood in the light that spilled over from the overhead lamp that bore down on Julia.

I grabbed a nearby IV pole, kicking the rolling base and casters off the bottom. I held it in my hands and began to think of a way to disarm Jessie's stepmother. I didn't have time to think long as Elena ran towards me. I leapt backwards as she took a semicircle swipe but not far back enough to avoid her follow-up roundhouse kick to my gut. Her knee quickly made contact with my face as I lurched over in pain from having my stomach almost shoot out of my asshole. I fell into a large cabinet full of medicine and other tools; the shelves quickly collapsed under my sudden impact. I scooted away as fast as I could when I hit the ground.

"Not so tough without a gun, huh?" Elena mocked.

I rose to my feet, using my pole as support, and said, "I don't need a gun to shove this up your sandy cunt."

 _Smooth, Jonny_.

Now thoroughly enraged at my reference to her vagina being coarse enough to strip wallpaper, Elena ran in close once again. I parried her blows the best I could and dodged the others, desperately looking around for something that would help. I noticed Julia had taken the time to start fidgeting, desperate to break free of her restraints.

"Stupid little shit," Elena cursed, sweat pouring from her brow. The giant lamp over the table was making things quite hot and, coupled with menopause, would act as an obstacle to killing me. I decided to take advantage of the situation and go on the offensive in hopes of wearing her down.

If beating this woman to death is what it took, then that is what I was going to do.

I took quick jabs and swipes with my pole, forcing Elena to back up. She tried to switch back to offense but I was too nimble for her. With one hard whack, I hit the hand that held the large KA-BAR knife with all my might. Elena shouted a myriad of swear words as I heard a subtle snapping sound. She dropped the blade and reached for her broken hand, only to be met with my stainless-steel rod across her eyes. Elena was knocked over into a collection of vital monitors and equipment. I stepped closer and peered over her: she was motionless.

I threw down the pole and went to Julia, grabbing the knife along the way.

"Hold still," I said as I cut through the thick straps.

Julia remained quiet as I diligently removed each restraint. Once complete, she immediately rose and threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my chest and sobbing uncontrollably. With all the explosives removed I could finally see that her clothes were ripped and bloodied; her arms and face were badly bruised and cut.

"Please don't leave me here," she begged. "I just want to go… please…"

I sighed and caressed her hair softly after slipping the knife into an interior jacket pocket.

"I'm sorry, Julia, they've done something to me that poses a threat," I explained. "There's a special train somewhere in this lab that will take you away from here. I need to see Judith."

Julia looked up at me and grabbed my shirt.

" _Please…!_ Jonny, that woman is _insane!_ You don't know…"

A voice from the above announced, "That's enough."

We looked up towards the observation box and met the gaze of the voice's owner.

My eyes widened: "Melissa?"

She showed no emotion, no joy to see me alive. It was like looking at the mere shell of a human being.

"Why can't you just love us, Jonny?" she asked flatly. "That's all we want."

"We?"

"Mom and me. I mean, we already have a daughter together."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Gwyn is not our daughter—we have no children—she was the Mullinax's kid."

"The Mullinax's were not Gwyn's biological parents. She was placed with them to keep her safe. But now that you're here, we can be a family. They can't take her away anymore."

I shook my head, saying, "You're not making any goddamn sense, Melissa. What the hell is wrong with you? Have they managed to program you, too?"

"I didn't need programming to fall in love with you, Jonny; nor did I need it to know all your secrets," Melissa replied. "You know, like the one you keep buried deep inside, the one that you would never tell me about."

Julia wrapped herself around my arm. That old familiar feeling of helplessness creeped back in.

Melissa continued, "I can see you're not ready yet and that's understandable. I know you want to say goodbye to your friends or at least try to stage some last-ditch effort to make it in here and cause a ruckus, and that's fine, too. If you want to get Roger, Hadji, Wade, all of them killed in the process, that's your prerogative, but the fact still remains: you're in this family whether you want to be or not. The Reunion will help you realize who truly loves you. Isn't that what you always wanted, Jonny? To live a normal life and to be loved unconditionally?"

I remained silent.

I could hear a stumbling sound behind me. Julia and I turned to see Elena trying to make her way out of the operating room through a doorway that led to a long hall, carrying the detonator as she went. Melissa noticed as well.

"Oh, and Elena," she said.

Elena stopped and turned to face her slowly. Melissa raised a gun—my 1911 Colt—and fired one shot. Elena's head rocked back hard enough to cause whiplash in a normal person and fell dead to the ground. Melissa returned my gun to her holster. Two members, both girls that looked like they were on their lunch break from high school, wearing the Hazmat garb entered wielding HK M27 assault rifles.

"Prepare the train for Chicago," Melissa said.

I looked down at Julia who looked back up at me.

She closed her eyes and laid her head back on my chest.


	101. Ninety-Nine

The underground switchyard, a reinforced warehouse the size of an airport hangar, was brightly lit and smelled heavily of fuel and axle grease. Three large diesel locomotives, emblazoned with the Canadian National livery colors, sat idly on their respective lanes. Julia kept close to me while our armed underage escorts kept a small distance behind us. I looked up to the switch operator bay that overlooked the yard: three men in uniform kept their eyes on the computer terminals in front of them.

"Wait," commanded one of the girls.

We stopped and faced them. The one behind Julia had short black hair and a rounded face; her partner was more built muscularly with blonde hair cut in the same style. I guessed even NEO had dress code requirements for its employees. Both had earpieces connected to a radio on their utility belts.

"What are you two waiting for?" I asked.

"Shut the fuck up!" the blonde barked.

I rolled my eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.

"Up there," she said after a few seconds, pointing towards the control room.

Julia and I looked up. A utility elevator was attached to the exterior entrance of the room with a wire mesh cage serving as the walls of the car and shaft. The car slowly reached the concrete floor of the switchyard platform and out walked Melissa. Behind her, in tow with an armed escort, was Wade, Hadji, Jade, and Dr. Earley. Hadji's thick black hair was shaved off—whether by him or someone else, I didn't know—and his face hadn't seen a razor in weeks. What he wore, however, piqued my interest: he was clad in a uniform I had only seen Indian armed forces personnel wear. It was apparent that Hadji had done a little more violent extracurricular studying over the years considering his religious pacifism. Dr. Earley's coat was torn and he was bleeding from the corners of his mouth; he had been roughed up a little before being brought in.

Melissa walked out last and motioned for us to be brought closer. The girls behind us shoved the barrels of their guns into our backs and gave a small shove. Julia and I slowly approached the group.

I looked over at Dr. Earley and said, "So much for keeping Judith out. I imagine that was just some nonsense to make me feel better?"

Dr. Earley didn't say anything.

"Mom has decided that everyone's invited to the Reunion," Melissa announced. "Since we're accommodating hosts, you're going to go pick them up."

"Is she programmed, Earley?" I continued asking him, ignoring Melissa.

Dr. Earley sighed and shook his head, "… No."

Melissa grabbed my jaw and focused my gaze on her.

"Are you listening to me?" she demanded.

I narrowed my gaze and spat, "Fuck you."

She slapped me with enough force that I went to the ground. I didn't know that my sweet, loving fiancée had that much strength in her. I staggered back to my feet.

"I'm sorry, Jonny," Hadji said from behind her. "Please, don't worry about us; we'll figure something out."

Melissa turned her attention to Hadji and punched him in the stomach. Hadji went down to his knees. Looking back at me, she said, "Jessie is going to probably try and free her parents from the site. Make sure that you bring her back, will you honey? It just wouldn't be right without her."

I remained silent.

Melissa smiled.

"See you soon," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "Love you."

I stared at her with an intense rage as I was pushed towards the steps leading down to the ground where the railroad tracks lay.

Julia whispered to me, "We're going to die, aren't we?"

I looked at her. Her pastel green eyes were searching desperately for any source of hope, any slight glimmer of reassurance that if not me, that someone, had a plan to fix the situation and make it out in one piece.

I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close to me. She started crying again silently.

I did as well.


	102. One Hundred

The rail car interior was the epitome of luxury: cream-colored chair railing and wall molding, a subtlety-patterned decorative carpet, exquisite birch furniture with matching doors, a fully-equipped kitchenette, and full bathroom. It had been two hours since the car was coupled to the engine and sent on its way; the gentle rumble of the tracks underneath gave a rhythmic "click-clack" every few seconds. I had searched every square inch of the interior for some sort of control panel to the electrical system or some way to get outside as the emergency exit release was computer-controlled. Frustrated and exhausted, I tossed Jessie's knife onto a desk and took off my coat.

The only bed—a king size mattress set with hotel-grade sheets and comforter—was situated on the far side of the car. A large picture window with opened curtains provided a depressing view of the barren ice wasteland outside. Julie sat on the edge of the bed, silent, and stared out into the vast nothingness. I hadn't heard her utter a word since being shoved aboard.

I walked over to the kitchenette area and opened the refrigerator's freezer compartment. I pulled out a bottle of Kors vodka, the first time I had ever seen a bottle of it in person.

"Figures they'd have the most expensive," I muttered as I went through a nearby cabinet looking for a glass.

I poured an eight-ounce glass half full. My body was bruised and bleeding from the wounds Elena had left; alcohol would numb the physical pain and, with luck, make the emotional pain hazy. After downing the first gulp, I turned around and was startled by Julia standing behind me. She eyed me for a moment before staring at the bottle of grain alcohol.

I pulled down another glass and filled it half-full like mine. She took it gingerly and began to take small sips.

"What's on your mind?" I asked her.

Julia put the glass down on the nearby counter.

"Your emotions… are strange," she said. "You don't seem quite that upset over what just happened."

"If you only knew…"

I finished off the rest of my alcohol and poured some more.

Julia asked, "What's going on inside your head?"

"I'm not sure," I answered. "I don't know if it's the stubborn anger that I have against Judith that keeps driving me through or my inadvertent ability to ignore everything else and the consequences to focus on one goal. Whatever the fuck it is they did to me, have done to me, I don't like it… I just wanted to be normal."

"I know they want people without emotional capacity. The idea of right-and-wrong seems to get in the way of a lot of things and sociopaths aren't exactly a dime-a-dozen."

I smirked, saying, "I guess so. I'm no sociopath, just an asshole…"

"I don't think you're an asshole."

I looked over at Julia. Her eyes were clearly focused on mine. I gave a small nod and thanked her.

"Listen, I… I need your help," she said softly. "I want to take a shower but they… they hurt me too bad to lift my arms up very high."

"No, no, it's fine, I understand," I said. "Go sit on the bed and I'll get you a towel."

The bathroom was located behind the kitchenette through a decorative door. A selection of bath towels and wash cloths were stacked neatly in a compartment above the toilet. I returned to the bed where Julia was sitting on the edge.

I sat behind her and asked, "Ready?"

She took a deep breath and nodded.

I slowly began to lift her shirt, exposing numerous cuts that had not scabbed yet and welts along her back and stomach.

"What the fuck did they do to you?" I asked.

Julia remained silent and shook her head. I told her to remain seated while I retrieved the car's first aid kit from the kitchenette. Upon returning, I popped open the plastic blue box and found equipment needed to perform a small operation if needed. I pulled out a pack of chlorhexidine swabs, an antiseptic that was more efficient than iodine and used in everything from surgical preparation to toothpaste, and cautioned Julia for the upcoming burning. She tensed up immediately as I began to apply the medicine to the first gash.

While I worked to clean and sanitize her wounds, I asked, "Why did you pick me, Julia? Why not Earley or someone else in one of the other departments? And for that matter, which department was after you?"

"…S-1," she whispered.

"S-1? What's S-1?"

"State One; or, as everyone else knows it as, the United States Department of State."

"Why is the State Department after you?"

"I know where somebody is that I shouldn't," she explained. "Judith figured if she could get me to talk, she'd have leverage. I told that cunt to go fuck a fencepost. Look what that got me…"

I said, "I see that. Now how about the other question: why me?"

She whispered something inaudible.

I leaned forward.

Julia sighed and slowly shifted around sideways with her legs draped over mine. She looked at me in the eyes once more.

"It's my secret," she said. "But I guess there's no use holding onto it anymore if nobody's going to hear it."

Before I could act, she clasped my face in her hands and kissed me. She quickly broke away, embarrassed at what my reaction would be, and stared down at the bed. My hands were trembling; goosebumps enveloped me like a wave. The thought of Melissa, Jessie, the women I loved... I knew what Julia's secret was. She looked back up at me, her eyes pleading.

"Please," she whispered. "Just let me experience this before I die."

I pulled her right leg over my head and straddled her in my lap facing me. With tears streaming down her face, she slowly leaned forward and kissed me again. I slowly ran my hands up her back and pulled her shirt off, tossing it carelessly in the floor. Julia began to whimper softly as her lacerations and bruises ached. I kissed her neck and undid her blood-stained bra. We continued to take each other's clothes off, kissing and sucking, rubbing and massaging, until I was slowly penetrating her underneath me at the head of the bed. She whispered in my ear how long she had loved me, how much she had wanted me for all the years of knowing me, her fantasies of me…

As Julia's legs wrapped around me and our pace established, I found her hungry lips again.

I wasn't going to let her die.

She was going to live through this.

And so was I.


	103. One Hundred and One

I had decided to spend a little more time in the shower after helping Julia take hers. The hot water seemed limitless and relieved the pain I felt in my aching muscles from the blows I had taken. My mouth was dry and bitter tasting with blood. I turned off the water and dried off with a fresh towel before wiping off the single mirror in the small bathroom. I needed a shave, a haircut, and enough Neosporin to coat my entire chest. I sighed and started searching through the cabinets under the sink. I turned up an unopened toothbrush and tube of Colgate as well as some prescription-strength polymyxin.

As I brushed my teeth, I thought about Melissa.

I could hear Jade's uncertainty in informing me that the love of my life was not only an operative to a degree, but my sister.

It didn't make any sense—Melissa's behavior, the "Reunion" ordeal—but then, none of this did. Everything went south the second I found my name scribbled in a Dean Koontz book owned by a streetwalker.

I rinsed out my mouth, applied some medication to some of my wounds, and filled the sink with water. I gently washed Julia's shirt and underwear as well as mine before hanging them on the gold shower curtain rod. The bathroom's stone tile was a smoothly polished pearl color that accented the cabinet and plumbing fixtures. More money was spent on making this room an exquisite place to take a dump than what went into building my house.

I grabbed a silk robe off a nearby hook and slipped it on. I wasn't expecting anyone to come knocking on a moving train car, but given the circumstances leading up to this point, I wouldn't expect anything less. The lights in the main area were turned out except for a reading lamp above the headboard of the bed where Julia was tucked in under the covers. She was watching the star-filled night sky out the large window positioned adjacent to the bed. I pulled back the covers beside her, took off my robe, and slid in beside her. Julia immediately flipped over towards me and pulled herself closer to me, wrapping her arms around me. I returned the gesture and kissed her forehead.

"It's a nice night tonight," I whispered.

"I wish we were on your swing in your backyard," she whispered back. "I was so scared… that you wouldn't help me."

"Whoever sent you the newspaper about me thought otherwise."

"Yeah…"

In the silence, I could feel her heart beating.

"So what made you fall in love with me?" I asked.

Julia nuzzled into my chest, somewhat embarrassed at the aspect of discussing her feelings.

"You were so strong for your age," she responded. "You were nothing like _he_ was…"

"Jeremiah?"

"No… Steven."

I stroked her damp hair, saying, "Tell me about your history with him."

I could feel Julia close her eyes.

"We were in the Marine Corps together, many years ago. They were toying with the idea of an all-female Force Recon squad headed by a senior enlisted. We sort-of had a relationship in secret. I was medically discharged after two tours due to scoliosis. It was kind of a mixed blessing, really."

"How so?"

"Steve was brash, arrogant," she continued. "He also… well, let's just say that he doesn't play gently with girls. He nearly ruptured my cervix on numerous occasions and hit me."

I gave Julia a small squeeze.

"I'm fully aware that Jeremiah could've cared less for my physical wellbeing; but he at least didn't use me in that way. I've had lots of therapy, been addicted to heroin and cocaine, tried to rebuild my life only to have it burn to the ground. When Steve tossed me that gun, that M1, that was my gun—I recognized the serial number—and in an instant, I remembered who I wanted to be at one time. Something I was never meant to be, unfortunately."

She laughed pedantically, "You were something else, though, Jonny Quest. I'm not going to lie and say that I often wished I could've gotten you to myself back then. I guess now it's better late than never."

I smiled a little, saying, "Yeah… I'm not doing too good in the romance department."

Julia looked up at me and asked, "What's your secret?"

"What?"

"Your secret? I told you mine and now I want to hear yours."

"You really think we're not going to make it out of this?" I asked emphatically.

A sad smile creased across her lips.

"If I recall correctly, you weren't too sure yourself," she said softly.

We kissed each other gently.

As I looked into her tired green eyes, I admitted my darkest confession: "Twelve years ago I slept with Jessica Bannon's mother. It's haunted me in my dreams ever since…"


	104. One-Hundred Two

"How much longer?" Julia asked.

I slid her bologna sandwich across the counter and glanced at the digital clock on the microwave.

"Another thirty-four hours," I said. "What was the place we're going to again?"

"Thunder Bay, Ontario."

I drank the rest of my coffee and downed my second peanut butter sandwich quickly. I looked over the interior of the car and sighed at the inability to hack into its inner workings. We had contemplated starting a fire or some minor catastrophe that would warrant the train to stop but decided against it: there was no guarantee it would work and there was a better chance of coming out alive if we were received as intended.

At least in theory, that was the case.

I put my coffee cup in the sink and went to the bathroom. Not long after, Julia was banging on the door frantically.

"Something's ringing," she said the second I let her in.

We made our way back to the main area of the car. Something indeed was ringing; an electronic ringtone like what was heard on Skype when a call was incoming. The sound was loudest at the bed where Julia and I slept. Tucked between the mattress and the box spring was a rugged, military-grade, Getac-brand laptop computer. A special compartment had been made into the box spring where the computer sat, carefully hidden away from prying eyes. I opened the lid and, sure enough, I had an incoming call on Skype.

I accepted the call.

"…hello?" I asked cautiously.

The avatar for an unknown caller appeared on the screen.

"You're ten miles west of Fort Ross," a computerized voice responded. "Your train will take you southeast by Taloyoak. Due to unforeseen track maintenance, your train will be stopping at Baker Lake. Please hold for any special instructions…"

Julia looked at me; I shrugged in response, unsure of what to say.

An unfamiliar male voice came over the computer's speakers: "Jonny, Julia, are you there?"

"Who's this?" Julia asked. "How the hell did you get in contact with us?"

"None of that matters right now. The train will be stopping in five hours. You will need to exit the car immediately as we don't have much time. We'll be waiting to intercept you."

The call immediately ended and the computer began to shut down. I quickly tried to interrupt the process but it continued without my input. Once powered off, the machine refused to power back on.

Julia let out a nervous sigh, saying, "I don't like this."

"I don't either," I said. "But, for now, it's the only glimmer of hope we have for fucking up Judith's plans."


	105. One-Hundred Three

Julia gripped Jessie's KA-BAR by the stacked leather hilt as the train slowly pulled into the rail yard. Baker Lake was a hamlet in the Kivalliq Region, roughly two hundred miles inland from Hudson Bay, and was the Canadian Arctic's sole inland community. The mouth of the Thelon River started in the colony and worked its way northwest; the train tracks followed it closely. The rail yard was located three miles southwest of the center of town next to the airport. When the locomotive came to a complete halt, Julia and I looked at each other. We had no choice but to expect the worst out of every situation before us.

After a few moments, Julia asked, "Maybe they forgot about us?"

Almost as it was on cue, the emergency exit door was pried open forcefully. Before I could react, six commandos donning black tactical gear rushed in. Half of them subdued me easily by twisting my arms behind my back and dragging me out onto the wooden platform. Julia was screaming as the other half wrestled the knife from her and gave her the same hands-on treatment they gave me.

We were forced down the steps and onto the gravel parking lot. In front of us was parked a green camouflage-colored AM General M1116 Humvee, sorely out of place on the rigid Canadian wasteland, with two occupants wearing balaclavas up front. Julia was forced into the rear passenger seat while I was forced into the rear driver seat. Jessie's knife was handed to the passenger. The driver, dressed the same as the soldiers who removed us from the train, turned out to be female from her voice. She gave instructions to the group to board the train and continue with their "operation." The accent that she had was an all too familiar one: it was one shared with my adopted brother, Hadji. As she rolled up her window, she remarked, "You two might want to buckle up."

I looked at the insignia on her arm: a dagger superseding an anchor with the banner "MARINE COMMANDO" stitched in gold against a dark blue background. Whatever branch she belonged to, it was not on North American soil. I looked over at the passenger: judging from their size, I assumed it was a female. Wearing a forest camouflage and boonie hat, the uniform's shoulder patch insignia consisted of a blue pentagon with a superimposed red one and white fist holding a dagger upright in the center. Five silver stars formed a semicircle around the digit. To the left was a small yellow diamond with a large black spade.

That one I did recognize.

Julia shakily fastened her seatbelt as the Humvee was cranked and put into gear.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"You'll be debriefed once you're in the air heading towards Yellowknife," came the reply from the driver. "Until then, keep your heads low. There's no telling if they've spotted us; we cannot trust the locals."

I looked back at the passenger and said, "You're a United States Marine; I recognize that insignia."

"How can you tell?" Julia asked.

"Jessie," I explained, turning to face her. "It's MARSOC, a new task force she's trying to join."

"I already did."

Julia and I immediately looked to the front of the vehicle. Jessie sighed and pulled off her hat and balaclava, letting her sweaty red hair fall free. She turned around in her seat to look at us, her normally bright and soothing eyes strained with lack of sleep. Her lips were dry and cracked; whatever Jessie had been up to since I last saw her, it didn't involve a comfortable couch and a mojito.

I reached out only for her to softly grab my hand midway and hold it tightly.

"I'll explain when we're in the air," she said quietly. "Thanks for returning my knife."

Jessie gave a cursory glance to Julia before putting her hat back on.

"We're coming up on the airport now," the driver said. "Get ready."

Jessie reached between her legs and pulled up a Sterling SMG C1, the same gun I had seen Race with back at the hotel. Something told me that the mysterious driver had been in contact prior and possibly aided in Jessie's initial escape. I pondered whether the allowance of my capture was some execution of a bigger plan being orchestrated behind the scenes.

Jessie cocked her gun and said to us, "When we stop, get out and run to the plane like your life depends on it… because it does. We will be under enemy fire, so watch yourselves."

"What about you?" Julia asked.

"Captain Sidana and I will provide cover fire. We'll be right behind you."

The Taloyoak Airport was fast approaching on the horizon. The air traffic control building, ticket booth, and waiting lounge was all housed in a building the size of a doublewide trailer. On the runway sat a white and blue twin-engine Beechcraft. The communications radio on the dashboard lit up with traffic as Jessie took the microphone and relayed information. I looked out the window and felt my heart sink.

"We've got company!" I yelled.

A trio of all-wheel drive sport utility vehicles were quickly approaching from behind. With guns hanging out of the windows—pointed at us—the sound of hot lead impacting the reinforced steel gave cause for alarm. Julia and I unbuckled our seatbelt as Sidana stepped on the gas.

She shouted, "Get ready!"

Julia held onto my arm hard enough that I thought she was going to crush it. I held onto her and to the chassis. Captain Sidana swerved hard towards the plane and brought it to a halt near the tail. I threw open the door and halfway-carried Julia to the door as bullets began raining down. I could hear Jessie and Captain Sidana returning fire. I threw open the doors on the cabin and pushed Julia inside before diving in myself. Slamming the doors behind me I watched as Jessie quickly ran around to the cockpit and climbed in. Sidana removed something from her bandolier and threw it before scrambling into the copilot seat. Jessie donned her headset and started the plane while Sidana got strapped in. I held onto Julia and tried to drown out the sound of the slugs bouncing off the apparently-bulletproof fuselage.

The plane began to move forward as the propellers increased speed. The runway was pure gravel, leading to a very bumpy liftoff. Jessie and Sidana calmly went through the standard routine of takeoff, remaining focused on getting us into the air as quickly and safely as possible. Julia placed her head on my chest and cried softly while I rubbed her back.

It was time for a debriefing.


	106. One-Hundred Four

Captain Anoushka Sidana was a thirty-four-year-old member of India's elite MARCOS unit, a special forces regiment of the Indian Navy. After she finally revealed her face, I could see a souvenir of her career: an elongated knife scar traced itself across the bridge of her nose and down towards the bottom of her left jawbone. Unlike Hadji, Anoushka had a lighter skin tone, suggesting she came from a more industrialized and metropolitan area instead of the rural jungles from which my brother hailed.

My brother, whom she was no stranger to as she was his commanding officer, who was also a member of the Indian Navy and MARSOC member, albeit a captured one.

Anoushka had moved to the passenger area and took a seat in front of us. She grabbed a brush from the back of the pilot's seat and began to work out the tangles in her short, sultry black hair. After giving an initial introduction and her connection with Hadji, she said, "I'm sorry we couldn't meet earlier, Jonny."

"I'm not sure if I should feel the same," I replied flatly.

"I cannot begin to understand what you're going through, nor can I even imagine what kind of psychological pressure is being put on you."

I remained silent.

"This is a joint operation between MARCOS and the Marine Corps under directive of NEO," she continued. "We have key members going rogue and causing much distress in the world; we're hoping once Judith is dealt with, the others will fall back in line. Otherwise, things are going to get nastier."

I nodded towards the Sterling submachine gun sitting on the floor and said, "I imagine you were also in or near the hotel? I saw Race possess that very same gun."

"We were near, yes. Unfortunately, a clean-up crew intercepted us on the way when we were coming to retrieve you. The other group was escorting Phil, Race, and the others. Suffice to say, I'm running out of personnel."

"How long has Hadji been a member?"

"A few years; we drafted him when he began his doctoral degree. We needed someone who could possibly reverse-engineer some of these abominations that Judith's team has concocted, such as the silicone membrane that currently resides on your brain."

I rubbed my face, asking, "Do you think it can be removed?"

"I'm not the one you should ask," Anoushka said. "Hadji would be your best bet."

I glanced towards the cockpit: Jessie flew the plane in silence. There was no indication of what was on her mind; I speculated that whatever it was, if anything, probably wasn't good.

I turned back to Anoushka and asked, "The book, _Night Chills_ … I remember seeing a video of Lorenzo and Pamela Hoyle handing over a large sum of bills for it back home. The family that ran the bookstore and held it were killed through an apparent trigger broadcast over the radio. What's so special about that goddamn version? I could get a copy off Amazon for a mere couple of bucks."

"I have heard something, but I am unsure of its validity."

"I'm listening," I said, leaning back in my seat.

"Prior to the start of the operation, there was talk of some notes scribbled down and pasted over pages in a paperback," Anoushka explained. "One of those pages is rumored to have Judith's trigger; she is known as DR-0."

I nearly choked.

" _Judith_ is a DR subject?"

"You're aware of her mental conditions and limited grasp of reality, correct?"

"Yes," I replied. "I was under the impression that she was left in a mental ward to rot."

"That wasn't always the case. Jeremiah Surd was a Ph.D. student when Judith drowned a boy in a sink. I think she was in her early teens then. Surd's mentor was an experimental psychiatrist with a specialty in psychochemistry. Together with Surd, they developed a very rudimentary drug schedule for Judith consisting of a mixture of amphetamines, MDMA, and scopolamine. The goal was to try and erase Judith's old memories, her past desires to do harm, and replace them with more positive suggestions. It worked to an extent, to say the least. The man who developed the system and administered it, the mentor of Jeremiah Surd, was Thomas Earley's father, Thomas Earley senior."

Julia commented offhand, "Color me surprised."

With a grim expression, Anoushka took a deep breath and asked, "Do you remember what your grandfather Quest did for a living?"

My father's father—the senior Benton Jonathan Quest, known to me as "Pa-paw"—was a United States Naval Commander. Pa-paw enlisted in 1939 and managed to work his way up the ranks, even finding time to attend college and eventually obtain a Ph.D. in psychology from Texas A&M. The Navy assigned Pa-paw to the Office of Naval Intelligence headquartered at the National Maritime Intelligence Center in Suitland, Maryland, where he could study asymmetrical warfare techniques.

Anoushka nodded, asking, "Do you know what he did while he was at the ONI?"

"He would never talk about it; neither would my grandmother nor Dad," I said.

"Not even your aunts? Uncles?"

"My aunt died of SIDS and my uncle died in Vietnam, so it's only Dad."

"I am sorry," she said with sincerity in her voice. "Even more so to tell you that your grandfather was a pivotal figure in tactical applications involving the MKULTRA project. Many subjects were cultivated from the Danvers hospital, especially PTSD and shellshock sufferers that VA hospitals had no trouble sweeping under the rug. Your grandfather had to make some pretty strong connections to maintain such a program even at a place like Danvers Hospital."

Callously, I asked, "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything," Anoushka said. "I'm telling you: Nusquam esse Orbis tapped your grandfather and he sold his soul to them—including his entire lineage from then on out—for reasons we don't know."

"Yet," I said with a firm expression.


	107. One-Hundred Five

The connecting flight to Chicago O'Hare International Airport from Yellowknife was as uneventful as they came. Two of Anoushka's team members supplied a different set of clothes to help blend in better before we parted ways. After being crammed into a Q400 regional jet, I took my place—a window seat near the back—and fumbled with a Zero bar I had bought from an outside vending machine. Jessie took a seat next to me. She remained silent and occasionally glanced in my direction. After we reached cruising altitude, I undid my seatbelt and finished my candy bar.

"Something's on your mind," I said to Jessie.

She gave a small nod and responded quietly, "I managed to see the remnants of the plane crash back home. The FAA and National Guard has most of the town cordoned off. There's literally nothing left of the sheriff's office and detention center."

"I see…"

Jessie looked at me, her eyes a mixture of scorn and regret.

"I need to tell you something," she said as tears streamed down her face.

I gave her a discomforting glare.

"Thomas Earley was the reason I enlisted in the Marine Corps," Jessie continued. "He said I was needed 'on the inside' to help keep you safe and told me everything. I was going to get you out of Rockland and far away from here to somewhere we would be safe and I could protect you. Someone decided to play their hand up top that resulted in Judith getting let off her leash. I don't know what Steve Rude, Reno, or anybody else is doing or who's controlling who, but I do know that, as of this moment, they are fully expecting us to try and infiltrate the Chicago site."

I continued staring at her in silence.

"And the teacher… Elizabeth Davenport?" she asked.

I nodded.

Jessie reached into the inner pocket of the black polyester jacket she was wearing and pulled out two newspaper clippings. Handing them to me, she said, "Read them."

The first one was an obituary dated one year before the "incident" in question for Elizabeth Davenport. The second one was an article on her tragic death: a shootout with police after a high-speed chase. Her daughter, Misty, was in the car with her. Both were pronounced dead on the scene. My hands began to shake.

"Now that you remember," Jessie said, her voice getting darker. "I thought you should know what really happened to Misty Davenport."

"But why would Wade tell me that he shot Misty if she died in the crash?" I asked.

"I don't think he's lying about shooting her. I think he's lying about why he shot her."

I looked at Jessie. She turned away.

"Sidana has something you need to see. We went to Kimball Island and dug up what Sheriff Smoak had buried for you."

I remained silent.

Minutes passed as the plane flew quietly through the semi-arctic air.

"Jonny?" Jessie asked quietly.

I didn't respond.

"No matter what happens… I love you, and I will always love you."

She slowly took my right hand in hers and held firm. I returned the grip. I looked out the window and let out a long sigh. The answers were falling into place whether I was ready for them to or not.


End file.
